


All This and Heaven, Too

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Happy Ending, M/M, Multi, Other, Polyamory Negotiations, Slow Burn, Trans Male Character, alcoholism talk, i don't know what to tag there'll be angst later but it's pretty nice for a long while, the motto, why have jealous love triangles when you can have polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-13 00:39:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 43,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4501122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Be careful with that. There were times that I thought something was there with Enjolras and me. But he talks about his friends in a way that’s usually reserved for significant others. Don’t get it confused, please,” Combeferre pleaded before reaching out a hand, leading Grantaire to sit next to him. “I just...I know it’s very complicated right now, but I never want you to think there’s going to be anything. I’m with you.”</p><p>But Grantaire had to knit his brow together, even as he was tucked under Ferre’s chin. He hadn’t brought it up out of any sense of jealousy. Really, he was amazed by the lack of jealousy he felt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HUGE WARNING: This is NOT meant to show the "right" way to begin a relationship between three people! One day, if I have more time, I want to go back and rewrite lots of this fic. I've been in contact with people in order to further my research. Please keep this in mind if you choose to read. None of this is a how-to, but I really hope to someday re-post this with a much healthier and realistic polyamorous relationship formation! If you do enjoy it, great!
> 
> This is my first chaptered fic! It's nearly done by now, so updates should be fairly quick, but most likely shorter in length than this first chapter (since this is getting a foundation down). The title is from Florence + the Machine's song by the same name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for sexual content in this particular chapter.

Combeferre met him in a bookstore. That’s what he told people, how they started the story of how they met. And every time, before the people to whom he was relaying the story could create a charming setting of a dusty old antique bookstore, Grantaire would jump in and supply what he believed to be very necessary information.

“It was a Barnes and Noble.”

“It was a bookstore. I really don’t understand what the difference is.”

“There’s a huge difference,” R would argue. “For one thing, there was fluorescent lighting and the undeniable smell of capitalism. And absolutely no queer books. I had long since given up on meeting guys on my work hours. Girls--sure. But no one comes into Barnes and Noble looking for queer books unless you are very, very hopeful.” He would turn to Ferre then, “And you just looked too smart to be hopeful. It’s what attracted me to you in the first place, for I was hopeless as well.”

Ferre would shake his head and move on. Grantaire had helped him find a few books before he started his research project there, but because he was on a tiny stipend, he didn’t tend to buy much after. Most of his time spent there was spent in the tiny coffee area.

That, too, blew Grantaire’s mind. And he would bother him nearly every day he was there about it.

“You know, you are really not doing the book-and-coffee hipster thing right at all,” he told Ferre, rather unhelpfully, one afternoon. “You need to go to a weird coffee place that has a pun in its title, preferably something about _grounds,_ and if it has a free book exchange based on the honor system--you’re in the right place. This one is a sad excuse for a coffee shop.”

“Do you actually have a job here, or just an apron?” he bit back, because the equation he was working on was giving him the screwing of his life, and he was not prepared to deal with the guy’s antics today.

“I do have a job actually--”

“You do?”

“Yes I do,” Grantaire smirked, and he leaned over the barrier between the coffee area and the book area. “But as it is, physical books are a dying industry and all that, so there is no one that needs my help.” After Combeferre didn’t answer, he looked on his paper, “Fuck, is that math?”

“Yes--”

“Do you study math?”

“Technically, I am involved with research in designing a more energy-efficient prosthetic, but in working on such, I need to quantify efficiency. Hence--the math,” Combeferre answered, gesturing across the paper. “I’m in school for engineering, and that’s a bit of everything, including math.”

Grantaire nods, though he had long since stopped looking at the paper. “What’s your name?” When Combeferre hesitated, he held out his apron, which read _Grantaire_ proudly. “I’m Grantaire, but _R_ is fine.”

He hummed, not able to keep from smiling at the pun. “I’m Combeferre--Ferre.”

“Combeferreferre, or just Ferre?”

“Ferre is separate, and preferred,” he clarified.

That was the end of their conversation, as R’s manager snapped at him, earning only a small wave before leaving Ferre to his math. Again and again, they had small conversations. Learning just a little bit each day. Learning about how much Ferre just wanted to be _in_ the lab instead of organizing the notes and equations, but he was the only grad student on a team of professionals, so he had to deal with it. Learning about how much R fucking _hated_ the retail job.

He learned about the creativity of the man who spoke to him, much of which was manifested in different ways to piss off his manager. One of these times was when Combeferre spotted the top of his dark, curly head bobbing between the aisles to “Build Me Up Buttercup,” which incessantly replayed over the speakers. Combeferre believed he had decided it was annoying around the third time, but somehow--by the fifth time, he couldn’t help himself from laughing when the opening notes played out. And though Grantaire eventually was yelled at enough that he admitted he would change it, his grin when he saw Combeferre was laughing somehow made up for the distraction from his work.

It made four weeks past quickly, but then R sped things up.

“So today is my last day,” he told Ferre, conversationally. Ferre could have sworn he saw a hint of smugness for how he looked troubled at this news. “Couldn’t take it. Going to just walk out.”

“Do you--have another job set up?”

R shook his head, “I have enough for a month’s rent, though. I’m so damn charming, Ferre. I should have no problem at all.” He shoved his shoulder slightly, “I had a reason for telling you this besides worry you.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah--I, uh, wanted to ask if our...small conversation over queer rights last week, given how passionate you seemed to be, meant anything more than being a decent fucking person.” The way that he turned his head, twitching slightly--a tell that this meant their conversation had meant more to _him_ than just being a ‘decent fucking person.’

Combeferre, however, had decided not to give R an easy time, given that R never gave anyone else an easy time. “If you wanted to ask me if I’m queer, please, just ask.”

But he surprised him, being forthright in his question. “Are you qu--”

“Yes,” Ferre said quickly, reveling in the slow smile across Grantaire’s features. “And the next question?”

An even bigger smile. “Go out sometime with me?”

“Yes,” he replied, and he was writing down his number in the next moment. “I have to get this work back to the lab. Good luck with your quitting. Um--” he smiled, “Call me later.”

And he did. They had a date, and then another, and then another. Combeferre grew resigned to the idea that Grantaire would forever refuse to invite him over, given the way that his work space took over the entirety of his apartment.

Besides, the first time that Grantaire had been invited over--their third date--he had fawned over how neat everything was, and that was always nice.

“I was really messy back home,” he confessed that night, handing R a can of Vanilla Coke. He may have gone out and used some of his stipend money to stock it in his fridge after hearing R ask for it at each restaurant they’d been to.

“That has to be a lie,” he argued, and Ferre laughed, shaking his head.

“No, I was always way too busy to clean, and it was mess left over from undergrad days. Coming out here was a clean slate--quite literally.”

“God, you know I hate the corny _quite literally_ phrases.”

“Someone needs to be as big of a shithead as you are,” he insisted, reveling in how Grantaire’s eyes flicked to the wall, an involuntary display of coyness. “Anyway, my friend Courfeyrac had a really, _really--”_

 _“_ He’s the one from the D.R., right?”

Combeferre nodded, “And--oh, you remembered,” he stopped, his smile becoming fond. Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Aren’t you just a sweetheart.”

“I liked you better when you were silently doing math problems,” he grumbled, folding a throw pillow into his chest.

Ferre took the hint and moved on, “Yeah--he has a really intense thing about cleaning, and I always just hear his voice in my head, so I end up keeping this place neat. Really not a fun story, but...what can you do?”

Grantaire hummed to himself, setting down the soda on a coaster and making an obvious show of it, given the conversation. Discarding the pillow, he sat up and leaned closer to Combeferre. “You know what my goal for this date is?”

“What?”

Grantaire believed he was too composed, and he frowned slightly before he moved to kiss at his jaw. Having never done that before, their dates being chaste and altogether _not_ what R was used to--Combeferre’s breath hitched deliciously. “My goal,” he whispered as he moved down his neck, “Is to finally kiss you enough that you have to take your glasses off to do it properly.” And he thought he was doing pretty well, until he felt Combeferre shiver and laugh and then push him away. “Oh, God, fuck--I’m sorry--”

“No, R, I’m...” he clenched his eyes shut, “I’m ticklish there.”

And here he was, expecting to be told off for moving too fast even though he was just kissing at his damn neck. Grantaire’s eyebrows shot up, “Seriously?” He couldn’t resist trying again, so he dove in to bury himself in Combeferre’s neck, kissing and trying to suck at the same place as before.

He was met with this beautiful, normally very composed man actually _giggling_ and throwing him off. “Oh my _God, R, stop!”_ he commanded, but all R did was laugh.

And then Ferre got serious, taking the hands that had just been used to throw him off to suddenly pin him to the couch, his wrists helpless in Ferre’s grip. And they were kissing _hard_ , and R couldn’t help but moan into his mouth as he tried to free his hands, but couldn’t. Ferre answered by breaking away, smiling wildly and sitting up, his thighs on either sides of Grantaire’s waist.

“There have to be laws against you being this hot, and that smart. There _have_ to be,” Grantaire whined until he was kissed again. His hands couldn’t help it when they started wandering under Ferre’s shirt, feeling Combeferre’s mirror his. “And how you can be ticklish when your neck is kissed--that’s my signature _move_ , Ferre, and you damn well _took_ it from me--”

“R, for the love of all that is holy,” Combeferre broke away, looking him in the eyes, still straddling him. “Are you going to keep talking?”

“Are you telling me to shut up?”

Grantaire had meant it only in jest, but Ferre surprised him. _God_ , he kept surprising him. “Would you like that?” As if to prove a point, he sank down to meet R’s hips, eliciting a groan. He leaned in, brushing against his ear. “Be quiet, R. No--” he stopped another groan in its tracks, the noise ending as nothing but a quiet whine. He smiled against his neck. “Good. Good, okay.”

Their bodies rocked together as they started kissing again, but it didn’t feel like enough. He didn’t know how ready Ferre was, what his normal dating procedure was--he hadn’t thought to ask. So he risked talking again after a few moments. “Ferre?” he asked, timidity coming more naturally than he expected.

“Yes?” his voice was composed, the _bastard._

"Are we going to--do you want to?”

“Oh my God, R, of course I do. _Thank you_ ,” he said, laughing in spite of himself. Their semi-scene from before forgotten, Grantaire’s own smile unleashed itself, and they kissed deeply once more. “Move to the bed?”

“Yes, please,” Grantaire breathed, hearing Ferre laugh.

They moved, attached though they were, and Ferre’s voice dropped, speaking calmly as Grantaire continued to try and kiss him. “Off with this--” he suggested, pulling Grantaire’s shirt off anyway. His own followed, and then his hands were back on him. “These too, come on.”

“You’re bossy,” Grantaire mumbled, only stepping away barely to get his pants off, watching Combeferre do the same in their respite.

The other man shrugged, “I know what I want.”

“Jesus, tell me you want _me_ ,” Grantaire was shaking his head as he stepped forward again, winding his arms around Ferre’s neck. He let himself be backed up, let himself be folded on the bed. He moved himself back to the pillows, letting Ferre climb on top of him.

“I do,” Combeferre breathed, his lips on Grantaire’s skin. “Of course I do. I want you like this--is this okay?”

Grantaire nodded, quickly in his surprise. Something about Ferre hadn’t hit him as someone who would want the position he requested, but Grantaire was far from wanting to take it from him. “Yeah, this is good,” he answered.

Combeferre continued to kiss him, slowly moving his hands around Grantaire’s thighs, the control of the situation making R’s breath flood out. It made Ferre stop in his kisses, looking up at Grantaire with a soft smile. “Can you reach into that cabinet there, get the--yeah,” he was laughing as Grantaire scrambled to fulfill the unfinished request. He handed Ferre a small bottle, as well as the condom, and he set them down to kiss R. “Thank you.”

“You are so _fucking_ welcome,” Grantaire replied, sitting back again, sprawling his legs to be more comfortable. “Very welcome,” he continued, watching Ferre prep his finger. “Extremely... _welcome_ ,” he breathed out when he started, accepting the kiss that silenced him. He smiled against Ferre’s lips as his body relaxed, nodding when Combeferre silently checked with him.

It got more difficult to smile, feeling Ferre open him, watching him kneel on the bed between his legs. “You’re so... _perfect_ , Ferre,” Grantaire murmured, biting his lip as he twisted his fingers just so. “ _God_ , I want it--I want it, Ferre.”

“Yeah?” he asked, checking him with a few more strokes inside of him. Grantaire nodded, mute and desirous. He removed his fingers, and Grantaire’s chest rose and fell with the absence, watching Combeferre prep himself.

“This is agonizing,” Grantaire almost whined, though he knew it was care that kept Ferre longer, as he spread lube over himself.

“If you don’t relax, we’ll have to start over,” Ferre murmured, leaning forward to kiss him.

“You’re so hot. What the fuck, Ferre?”

He laughed then, as close as he was to fucking him. _God_ , Grantaire was surprising to him, still. He wound hands around his thighs, lifting him slightly so they were positioned well. And slowly, leaning his weight on Grantaire, wanting to know how his body was reacting, Combeferre pushed himself in. He whispered to him, as slow as he was, completely present in the moment. “This is so good. R, you’re so good,” he breathed, feeling Grantaire’s body give to him, feeling his partner’s fingernails graze his back, clinging to the skin.

They breathed together, reveling and lingering in the feeling of being as connected as they could be when Ferre bottomed out, the front of his thighs against Grantaire. Ferre’s head had been tucked into Grantaire’s shoulder, but he lifted himself again, looking at Grantaire.

In the moments then, his body further relaxing, Grantaire found the ability to speak again. “So,” he whispered, “Come here often?”

“Such a conversationalist,” Combeferre sighed out, testing his reaction as he began to move, ever-slowly. When Grantaire’s mouth fell open silently, he smiled. “Can’t hold a discussion now?” he teased, groaning as soon as he pushed into him. “ _God_ , Grantaire.” With Grantaire’s tightening, even scratching fingernails, he picked up his pace, giving what his partner was clinging to him for.

Grantaire’s head fell back at some point, time lost to the throes of ecstasy, to the feeling of being joined to this person so intimately. His left hand fell from Combeferre, bunching at sheets, and his wrist was soon pinned near his head. His moan was muffled by Ferre’s mouth on his as he fucked into him again and again and again, and Grantaire needed to turn away so he could gasp for air as he got closer.

“Touch me,” he begged, “Please, can you--” And Ferre nodded, letting his wrist go so that he could guide Grantaire closer to his finish, knowing he could reach his own climax any moment. With the feeling of the other man’s cock in his fingers, slick and hard with arousal, Ferre only got closer.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he hissed, feeling himself give over to orgasm, speeding his hand on Grantaire, who moaned out, again and again. “ _Fuck_ , Grantaire,” he nearly warned, feeling the man clench around him. Ferre looked in his face, forehead beaded with sweat and eyes closed, his mouth open. He fell silent as he watched Grantaire concentrate on nothing but pleasure, only to choke on cries of orgasm, his body rolling against Ferre as he came in his fist.

He leaned his weight on him, still buried. “Grantaire,” he whispered, mouthing his ear, “Oh, Grantaire.” He remained there, boneless and fucked out, feeling their chests heave together and their sweat mix, for as long as he could until remembering that he couldn’t remain in Grantaire forever. And even then, with a long kiss, he moved slowly out of him.

“You’re incredible,” Grantaire groaned, laughing breathily as Ferre cleaned them both up. He hummed to himself, “I’m going to keep you around, I do believe.”

“I didn’t know I was taking a test,” Combeferre replied, pulling a lazy Grantaire out of bed to the shower.

“There was no need to worry you,” he said, smiling as he was pulled. “I knew you’d ace it.”

“So,” he continued, gathering Grantaire close once more. “Regular thing, then, here?”

“Here, there, fucking anywhere.”

Combeferre laughed, and then they kissed under the falling water, and he was struck at how normal it seemed, sharing a bed, sharing breakfast, sharing clothes when Grantaire ended up at his place without a change of such.

But things weren’t normal long. About six weeks into their relationship, after Grantaire went on a few interviews but never offered a job, he handed in the last of his money to his landlord. After four weeks, and he had nothing else to show for it.

“I can’t just let you stay here,” the guy told him, holding a surgical mask to his face as he walked in, shielding himself from the paint. “Your painting is enough of a nuisance, frankly, and I don’t run a charity.”

“I know you don’t run a _charity,_ but shit man--you know my situation.”

“The unemployment? Yes, I do. But this is not for my personal sympathy. This is a business for me, Grantaire.”

He ran his hands through his hair, “So, what? I’m out on the streets in a few days?”

“Go willingly within five days, or forcefully within more.”

He left, and Grantaire was left to start cleaning and organizing things together, with nothing better to do. He stacked up his canvases, got a box out for his few kitchen items, only to sit down on the edge of his bed, head in his hands.

Needless to say, he was not on his game when he saw Combeferre the next day. And he noticed _immediately_ , much to Grantaire’s chagrin. “What’s going on, R?”

“Nothing.”

“R,” Ferre demanded. When there was no answer, he slowly wrapped an arm around him. Grantaire had to admit it brought a sense of comfort to say something that was--above all else--embarrassing.

“I’m losing my apartment,” he admitted, nodding as he said it out loud, the situation finally feelings real. “My landlord told me yesterday.”

“Do you need me to pay--”

“Oh my God, no. No, please, don’t,” Grantaire argued, thinking that this loss of pride around Combeferre had to be it. He couldn’t want someone like him, could he? There were class boundaries. There would always fucking be class boundaries, and some hotshot engineering research student genius couldn’t date a homeless artist. He couldn’t.

“I, um...okay, well, I know it’s fast, but it’s a special circumstance and--” Combeferre seemed to be working out his response as he went, and Grantaire refused to let his mind fill in anything for him. “You could live with me, at least for a while.”

“ _What?”_ Grantaire asked, completely incredulous. “Ferre, please, you don’t have to do this, and--”

“I want to,” he replied, and he stopped their walk to place both his hands on Grantaire’s shoulders. “We can just say it’s temporary. Would that make you feel better?” He nodded, and so did Combeferre. “I don’t mind, at all.”

“I’m most likely a shit roommate. My previous roommates have all told me as much.”

“Were you dating your roommates?”

“No,” Grantaire conceded. He smirked, “No, I was not.”

“We’ll take every day as it comes.” And with that, he pulled him in and they continued their walk.

“How the fuck are you so calm?” Grantaire asked, his head against his chest, long since having accepting their height difference.

“It’s...regulation. I can’t say that I always match my external appearance with how I’m feeling.”

“That doesn’t make me nervous or anything.”

Ferre clicked his tongue, “No, you see most of me. You always help to _make_ me calm, so good on you.”

“Good on me,” he hummed in response, before Combeferre continued.

“There’s no use in saying, again and again, that I’m stressed about something. I had to learn that. Things happen daily outside of my control, and things are always going to happen outside of my control, so it’s all I can do to just...let them along in their evolutionary trajectories.”

Grantaire whistled, “Fanciest way of saying _why should I worry_ that I have ever heard.”

“You asked.”

“So I did,” he sighed, “Thanks for showing up out of the fucking blue at a fucking Barnes & Noble.”

Combeferre discovered that it was nice having someone who could become as quiet as he could be, and exist in silence that was not awkward. Their natures were more similar than he had ever realized before, since they were now constantly with one another.

And then there was Jeopardy. Grantaire had never watched Jeopardy, and had only known the game as far as cultural literacy took him. But he was amazingly good at Jeopardy. He would make curious sounds of interest at the most obscure of categories, only for Ferre to find that he would get every single one. He is still not sure how he knows obscure bodies of water in Western Africa.

It made Ferre laugh. And it made Grantaire feel good. And that was important.

Because, living together out of necessity (and quite a bit of enjoyment), he became intimately acquainted with Grantaire very quickly. After a few of what he called “bad days,” days in which he shuffled around, or disappeared, or couldn’t hold many conversations--he admitted what Combeferre had been wondering.

“I have depression,” he said, after the worst of the day had been washed off with a long shower. He said it while staring at a wall, his jaw tight and his hair still wet. “I was diagnosed a few years ago--got prescriptions when I was still living with my family, but then we had a fallout and I moved out, right? And, um...yeah, the money really never came through to buy the meds. Didn’t help that I was diving headfirst into alcoholism either.” He considered for a moment, scratching at the palm of his hand, “They made my creativity go to complete shit anyway.”

Combeferre had reached out, his hand cupping R’s shoulder. “Okay,” was all that he said. “Thank you for telling me.”

Grantaire had nodded, his body still tense. And then Combeferre asked if he’d like to help him cook dinner. He did.

A few days after, so that it was not thrown at him when he was being vulnerable himself, he told Grantaire about his own struggles with various anxiety disorders.

“You were always calm with me,” Grantaire said, trying to figure it out.

“Maybe you didn’t notice, but I was never the one to approach you,” Ferre answered, and then Grantaire was guiding his head to his chest, ignoring how their heights were definitely not supposed to work like that, since Ferre’s feet dangled off the couch. He didn’t care. “One day I’ll tell you why I’m actually out here in the first place.”

“You could...just tell me now,” Grantaire suggested, and his fingers were combing through his hair, and Ferre has previously been unaware it could feel this _good_ and _God_ , this was good. He felt hesitation for even bringing up what he was about to bring up. “I thought you’re here for research.”

“I am,” Ferre said quietly. “But I had other places that I could have worked with. I--I needed to get over someone. Romantically, I mean.” He felt Grantaire’s fingers never falter, and he looked up at him to see that he was staring at a wall. But then he looked down, kissing him softly, encouraging him on.

“It was one-sided,” he said quietly as he settled into his chest again. “It was...always one-sided. But it was very deep for me. We were very close, and I don’t...think that will change. And I understand that you--you, as my boyfriend--should probably know that I’m still friends with someone that I was probably in love with, and for a very long time.”

Grantaire sighed, nodding, “Yeah. Yeah, I appreciate that.”

“I don’t want to hide anything from you, so--”

“If it’s all right,” he interrupted, “Maybe I don’t have to know exactly who it was now? That way, it’s less of a personal thing. I’d rather think of them as this general way, know them by other qualities than _former object of Combeferre’s affections and obviously my archnemesis now.”_

Ferre just smiled, “Always manage to surprise me with how good you are.”

“Don’t let anyone hear you, speaking that heresy into the world.”

He rolled his eyes before continuing the story, “Anyway, um, it had gone on for years, and--I knew that I needed to make changes, but I didn’t want to lose my friendships. You’ll meet them eventually, I’m sure, and you’ll understand why. It was all or nothing. And it was getting so hard just being around him and being normal, so I took myself out here.” Grantaire was quiet for a while, as was Ferre. It was the latter who spoke again. “But I’m telling you this because I am so...I am so secure with you. I thought perhaps I would become just more secure in myself, but this is more than I ever thought would be here.”

“A broke artist who is technically homeless?”

“A _talented_ man with whom I am so happy to share my home,” Combeferre corrected, and Grantaire made a gagging noise. Ferre laughed, “Truly. _Truly_ , though. Only wanted to tell you when I knew we were secure for it.”

Grantaire tilted his chin up, “I believe you.” And then another moment for his smile to return. That _grin. “_ And this is definitely not one-sided.”

Ferre couldn’t help but return his look, and hummed as their lips met. “Good,” he said. He turned his body so that he was laying on R’s, his hands threading through his boyfriend’s curls.

“No lab hours tomorrow, right?” he murmured against Ferre’s lips.

“None,” he sighed. And then he was laughing as Grantaire buried into his neck, kissing where he _knew_ was sensitive to laughter. And he felt easy, since R has long learned that moving his lips to Ferre’s neck was no way of pushing intimacy further, given his shivering laughs. And still he did it, and still Ferre felt his smile on his skin. And he was more secure every day.

But his job was less secure than he was. He had been guaranteed a minimum of six months of research, and they had _not_ been joking around. Because as soon as he reached six months there, he received an email notice that he needed to organize his return to his home campus. To his _home._ With his _friends._ With his _family._ With his f _riends who were family._

And with Grantaire?

He had never thought that he’d have an extra person to bring back with him, but here he was, in the apartment the research team had provided, with another person that he had never expected. Who was he to leave him behind? Who was he to ask him to move back with him--where he had no life, and everyone there were Combeferre’s friends? And-- _God,_ Enjolras would be there, too. And it had been long enough, and _God,_ he really thought he loved Grantaire. He knew he loved Grantaire.

But would it be enough?

It was at that moment that Grantaire walked in.

“I love you,” Combeferre blurted out, the sudden declaration going against everything he tried to do in terms of letting things fall as they were meant to fall. Grantaire only stared at him. “I have to move back. They told me today that my project doesn’t need my help anymore, and I have to move back, and I... _love_ you.”

“You’re moving back?”

He couldn’t be stopped. “I left there because I knew I couldn’t be selfish with how I felt, but you make me want to be selfish. I can’t explain how much _freedom_ you’ve given me, and I want to be _selfish_ with it, R, and I want you to come back with me. My friends--my friends are my friends, I know, but they will positively adore you. A few of them already do, and you--you’d have opportunities there, I’m sure. And you--”

“Ferre, please...please calm down,” Grantaire pleaded, and it was then that Ferre registered the smile on his face, the way that he was stepping forward. “Jesus, that was, like...marriage-proposal scale good. You aren’t proposing are you? Because moving in out of necessity was one thing, but--”

“Grantaire, no.”

“--You just can’t cage this wild animal, Ferre. I’ll run away all Julia Roberts-like, I’ll do it. Sorry to say that,” Grantaire kept going, only then taking pity on his clearly stressed boyfriend and smiling. “I love you, too, by the way.”

“That slipped in there, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, yeah, it did,” he couldn’t hide his smile. “And honestly, Ferre, it’s not even being selfish. What do I have around here? A bookstore manager who’s still out for my blood?”

“He’s not out for your blood.”

Grantaire tilted his head back and forth, considering before he waved the thought away. “Point is--I’ve got nothing here. I’d fucking love to go, if you have space for me.”

“You can still bear to share a bed with me?”

“What kind of question is that?” He countered, smiling. Combeferre wrapped arms around his stockier torso, leaving Grantaire to wind his hands to the nape of his neck. “Oh, my _lover_ \--”

“I hate when you call me that,” Combeferre groaned, laughing with how easily everything had been solved. “It’s so _awkward_ , and you _know it_ \--”

“My _lover!”_ he said, more forcefully, causing Combeferre to back him up, laughing, to their bed.

It was up to Grantaire to pack, and he found that he wasn’t very good at it, but Combeferre didn’t mind going back and organizing things himself. It worked out, and quickly, too. Grantaire dutifully let his family know he’d be moving away, but they were far enough out of his life to really care. He sat with Combeferre when he Skyped home, and was there to say hello when face after face came across the screen. He was there when Combeferre told him that he’d be back within the week, and he was there when everyone on the other end started cheering about it. He couldn’t help but smile, feel proud that someone whose return earned a roomful of cheers was taking _him_ back to where all these people were, to live with _him_ , to fold him into his whole life.

When they were driving across state lines, Combeferre hummed. “I guess the only one you haven’t met was Enjolras.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire said absently. The shitty gas station coffee hadn’t kicked in yet. “He was always...out somewhere.” He knew of Enjolras, of course. Combeferre had told him about him and Courfeyrac on their first _date_ \--but he wasn’t being much of a conversationalist, so he piped up to ask what he already knew. “Remind me about the bonds there?”

“I grew up next door to Courf, and then we met Enjolras in grammar school,” Combeferre explaining calmly, clearly happy for a change from a silent car before Grantaire woke up completely. “Always best friends, because the kids who end up in principal’s office most have to stick together, right?”

“You would go to the principal’s office?” he asked, snorting.

“I tended to defend the other two, but there were some times that I got there myself. Anyway, when we got to middle school Enjolras kind of...changed. Courf and I always kind of lived with the idea of Enjolras being different--always refused to play any sort of female role in pretend games and stuff like that--but middle school is when he started asking to be called by his last name,” he nodded to himself as he focused on changing lanes. “God, these mirrors are terrible. I have eight blind spots.”

“Used to your tiny-ass smart car?”

“I care about the environment,” he muttered, only breathing easy when he was set in his lane. “We all started coming out to each other sophomore year. It was weird as hell.” He paused to laugh, “You know, I came out a few months in, and then Enjolras came out as trans when we were...I was sixteen, the other two were fifteen. So a few months after. And by the end of that year, Courf had come out, too. And like, we’d always been friends, right? But after that, it was like we were more than the people we just played around with all the time. It was something really important, and we could all talk really freely with each other. _Really_ freely, and educate each other. Just have that identity reinforced.”

Grantaire hummed and nodded. “Close, then?” he asked sarcastically, knowing these were the most important people in his whole life. He blamed the ache of never knowing anything like it on the drowsiness that was still bothering him.

“Extremely,” Combeferre sighed. And then he laughed out loud, “God, I’m so happy you’ll get to meet them.” And that was enough for him, it seemed, as he turned on the radio, and wordlessly allowed Grantaire to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who don't know (since I believe it's strictly an American chain), Barnes & Noble is simply an enormous chain of bookstores. It gets the job done, but definitely does not support a hipster lifestyle, nor is it conducive to a good work environment. Grantaire's a shit, but he knows what he's talking about.
> 
> Next chapter has nearly all the rest of Les Amis in it! So that's fun, I think.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Courfeyrac abuses the key Combeferre gave him to his new apartment, as though he would do anything different.

Grantaire had thought they’d have a quiet evening, possibly order dinner in, come back and just... _sleep._ Even though they had been sleeping all day, the toll of traveling in any form was enough to make him crave a shower and relaxing.

But this was not the life that they had anymore, and that was clear as soon as they got to their new apartment.

“People are definitely more aggressive drivers here,” Grantaire was saying, lugging a bag to the door. “I got cut off like a million times--that one guy gave _me_ the finger, Ferre, and I didn’t even fucking _deserve_ this one and--”

“ _Surprise!”_ a deafening roar came up around them as they pushed open the door, and Grantaire dropped his bag in surprise.

Wide eyes blinked as the light made clear that it was the people he had only seen in webchats and pictures--led by Courfeyrac who had wrapped around Combeferre, who was laughing and calling out names as he saw them.

As soon as they would hug Combeferre, they would move to Grantaire--some respecting some measure of personal space with a handshake, and others, like Courfeyrac, forgoing such to envelope him in a hug. There was, obviously, Courfeyrac, who introduced him to Jehan, an ethereal creature whose arms only unwrapped from Courfeyrac to fall on Grantaire. There was Feuilly, who felt it natural to yell for his boyfriend--an enormous man named Bahorel, someone Grantaire remembered from the webchats. There were others who milled around, or were still preparing things for dinner, and they simply waved in greeting. Dimly, his sleepy brain reminded him of their names, learned through Skype as they would speak to Combeferre. And then he looked up to see one unfamiliar to him coming towards Combeferre.

He was light.

He was all golden curls and dimples and slender arms open wide as he beamed at Grantaire’s boyfriend. And he knew at once--Enjolras. He had seen a few pictures, but they had all been serious-looking, or ones when he wasn’t paying attention as much as he could have while smiling. But now...unadulterated by film intercessors, he was light. His laugh was high bells, and Grantaire couldn’t help but stare as he gripped Combeferre tight and closed his eyes, the perfect picture of happiness.

Grantaire was mesmerized in seconds.

Then Enjolras opened his eyes, his smile dimmed to greet Grantaire. “Grantaire, yes?” he checked, unlacing himself from Combeferre to go to him. He held out a hand, which R shook while nodding his head to confirm who he was. “Enjolras, hi, it’s so nice to meet you. Now Ferre, I want to talk to you about the--” and then he was trying to guide Ferre away, before Courfeyrac complained loudly.

“Don’t steal him away _now_ , we want to _eat_ ,” it was nearly a whine. Grantaire couldn’t help laughing with the other people.

Combeferre took half a step over to touch him on the back, a simple reassurance that he was there. “Courf, when I gave you a key, you know, it was really for emergencies and if I asked you about the place before I got here.” That did nothing to deter him, but instead he pulled a very willowy Jehan with him into the kitchen, where there were unmistakable smells of lots of things cooking. Combeferre sighed and turned to R, “Is this okay?”

“I’m not going to let my first impression be throwing them out,” Grantaire answered, smiling in spite of himself. “Yeah, this is fine. Besides, there’ll be food.”

Combeferre smiled, nails light on his back, “Okay, yeah, there will be a _lot_ of food. And most likely extremely spicy, but--”

“Spicier than that curry you made last week?”

“No,” Ferre was still smiling. “You’re a champ.” He kissed him quickly on the cheek and then was pulled away.

“Grantaire, Gr--do you have a first name?” someone small said. R turned and sat next to the guy seated on the couch, the cane at his side presumably belonging to him.

“I don’t like it,” he answered honestly, wrinkling his nose.

A guy sat down to the smaller one, “Joly doesn’t like his either. Good thing he’s got such a cute nickname.”

 _Yes_ , Grantaire remembered that this was Joly. And the other--Bossuet. Or Laigle. _Both._ That was it. Joly was grinning, moving his body to be closer to Bossuet. “I like Grantaire.”

“Thanks, dude. So do I.”

Joly, he soon learned, was an over-sharer. Grantaire discovered, within five minutes of him talking, that he had just gotten over pneumonia, which his mothers had fretted over so much that he had gone home for a few days to recover, which fit his own tendency to fret over illness, and he had been upset because he was in a residency to become a pediatrician, and days off do not come without consequences, but he couldn’t be contagious around kids, and especially not when he was so weak so as to fall when he wasn’t paying attention (he had a prosthetic leg, he told him then, always ready to fill in details).

“Oh! So Ferre’s research with prosthetics—any chance that could be useful?”

Joly grinned widely, “One day, he’s going to figure out how to make me _fly._ ”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” Combeferre reminded him gently.

“But if you _wanted_ to…” he suggested, hope clear in his eyes.

Grantaire had a feeling that Combeferre and Joly had had this conversation more than once, given Ferre’s sigh into resignation, “If I can figure out this energy thing, I’ll look into flight for you.”

Joly seemed appeased as he leaned back into Bossuet. “Anyway, I had just come back from sick leave to find that Musichetta had to be away for your _job_ , so that was a major bummer.”

 “And Musichetta is--” Grantaire prodded.

Bossuet answered, an arm around Joly, “Our girlfriend.” As if rehearsed--Grantaire figured enough of the same answers prompted such--he continued, “Polyamory. Lovely arrangement for us three.”

“Really?” Grantaire asked, “I don’t mean to...be weird about it. I’m sure you get enough of that, but...how is that?”

“It’s not weird to ask! It’s weird to ask when, like, the first thing people say is _so you just have threesomes_ ,” Joly dropped his voice nearly three octaves to imitate people, eliciting a laugh from Grantaire. “But it’s a rare thing now, we get it. But it’s nice. A nice balance. But she’s presenting some of her research at a panel somewhere--where was it, Lesgle?”

“Baltimore. She’s an ecologist--really into water.”

“And who shouldn’t be?” Enjolras called, and Grantaire jumped. He hadn’t known everyone was listening.

Joly leaned into Grantaire, “We think Enjolras may be a little in love with Chetta. Or at least her sustainability projects.”

Enjolras was into a small speech, “--basic human right! Who are we to bottle up precious resources, precious _necessary_ resources, and then sell it for an insane amount of product? Who are we?”

“Capitalists!” someone called, to laughter around them.

“Socially inclined to be oppressors!”

“Bloated with the water weight that others need more than we do!”

“We are in a position to purge ourselves of such inclinations!” Enjolras called, rising to stand. Ferre smiled fondly, then turned to Grantaire, who had to pull his own eyes away from Enjolras. “With the work of such people as our own Musichetta, we may live to the see the day on which we can stand as a hydrated human race!” With self-aware laughter, the table cheered, knowing how strange it was to have a dinner guest standing and envisioning a future without dehydration. But still happy, never making fun of him. Even Enjolras was smiling.

“To Chetta!” Joly said happily, raising his glass.

Grantaire was altogether charmed. And it only increased. Courfeyrac turned out to take as much joy (if not more) in making Combeferre flustered as Grantaire did, and wasted no time in asking, conversationally, “Does he ever let you top? I’ve told him, time and time again, that he’s got to switch it up, no matter how good he apparently is, and he--”

“Courf, _please_ ,” Combeferre groaned, much to the laughter of everyone else. Jehan, for their credit, was trying to conceal their laughter. Grantaire couldn’t even do that, sputtering on the sip of water he had taken.

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes, and maneuvered Jehan’s arm around his shoulders. Then he focused on Grantaire. “You tell him what you want, Grantaire.”

“I will.”

“I’m counting on you.”

“Well, who am I to let you down?”

Courfeyrac grinned, “I know that was sarcasm, but I’m taking it.” As if remembering where he was, he gestured at the food, “Do you like it?”

“Yeah,” Grantaire answered honestly, watching as he beamed in pride. “Yeah, it’s awesome.”

“You don’t need to worry about hurting his feelings,” Bahorel shouted from the other end of the table. Feuilly was soundlessly laughing across from him. “Say what you mean, man, Courf can take it.”

“I do mean it,” Grantaire tried to argue, smiling in confusion as he looked around.

Courfeyrac responded by disentangling himself from Jehan and standing, pointing his finger in Bahorel’s direction. “Eat your damn food,” he challenged, with a voice that was normally reserved for mothers.

“I’m fucking trying--”

“Is it the spice? I’m sure I have a soft tortilla for you,” he continued, his sarcasm clear. If it wasn’t for Bahorel and Feuilly laughing, as well as Jehan still covering their mouth with quiet noises escaping, Grantaire would be worried this was an actual fight. But Enjolras was carrying on some conversation, and Joly was settling against Bossuet--this was fucking normal.

This madness was fucking normal. Grantaire loved it.

“Dude, relax, I’m messing with you,” Bahorel responded after his laughter receded. But it was too late, Courfeyrac holding out a flour tortilla across the table. “I don’t need your soft tortilla.”

“I fear a crispy one may be too much for you.”

“Fuck your tortillas,” Bahorel grumbled, staring at the bread being waved in his face. Finally, he lunged forward, taking it from Courfeyrac using only his mouth. As weird as it was, it made Courf laugh and return to his seat, yelling forgotten.

“Is this everyone?” Grantaire asked, gesturing around the table.

Courfeyrac, while pulling Jehan’s arm over his shoulders, shook his head, “Nah. Our roommate--Enjolras’ and mine--isn’t here. The honorable Marius Pontmercy, gentlepersons here gathered, pretended to have forgotten we were surprising Combeferre, and said he had _plans_ with one _Cosette_ that simply could not be cancelled.” A mixture of laughter and applause erupted with Courfeyrac’s meaningful look, and Grantaire had to laugh as well.

Feuilly spoke up suddenly, “Speaking of which, everyone remembers that Bahorel and I are on anniversary time this weekend, correct?” Grantaire hadn’t known, of course, but he didn’t understand the necessity to know either.

Ferre spoke for him, “Yes, we do. Are you doing anything fun?”

Bahorel exchanged a smile with Feuilly, “Fuck yeah.”

“How long?” Enjolras asked, leaning so he could look at the two of them. “We’re still sharing that shift at the shelter, right?”

“Yeah, all communication will continue by Monday,” Feuilly replied, his chin leaning on his hand, smiling.

“I don’t understand,” Grantaire tried to say quietly to Combeferre, not comprehending why Feuilly and Bahorel would warn that their anniversary was this weekend, why everyone needed to be briefed on their suggested intimacy.

Before Ferre could explain, Bahorel jumped in, “Everyone needs to give warnings in advance for when they need alone time, because everyone at this table has become too fucking codependent.”

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes, “Speak for yourself.”

“Courf, you literally climbed our fire escape when you didn’t hear from us for a day,” Feuilly said, much to his embarrassment and Bahorel’s appreciation. “I love you, I do, but own your shit like the rest of us.” Grantaire laughed along with the rest of the table, settling in to do what a transplant did in a community that had long-since been established: be quiet and depend on his boyfriend to explain things that confused him. Though many of the group helped with the latter, he was content with the former, no stranger to being quiet.

“So,” a woman named Eponine said once everyone was full. “What’s your family deal?”

“Ep, that’s kind of insensitive,” Bossuet warned, his arm around Joly. When some agreed, she only raised her eyebrow, fixating on Grantaire.

He waved the criticism of her question away, “I don’t mind it! I really don’t. Not a problem.” Eponine crossed her arms, smiling softly. He took a deep breath, and then shrugged, “I have an older sister, but--never close. She’s got a baby now, from what I’ve heard, but she moved away when I started high school anyway. And my parents...my dad was always kind of a dick, and my mom would have been happier if they could afford a divorce lawyer honestly--” He smiled when Eponine applauded this tidbit, “But then I pursued art all the time, and they didn’t feel the need to support me--which I understand--but I was angry and dark and shit, so I left.” He ran a hand through his curls, feeling Combeferre’s hand softly on his knee. Much of their reasoning, he knew, stemmed from Grantaire’s alcoholism, but that wasn’t a conversation to have his first night there. So he continued on anyway. “It’s less of a problem than I really thought. Whatever, I guess.”

“Right on,” Eponine grinned, leaning back into her seat. “I ask because we’re kind of split evenly on weird family shit and perfect families here, so--happy to have you in the weird family squad.”

“Happy to be here,” he said truthfully, reminding himself to ask Ferre--who was surely in the perfect family half--what the rest of the division was. As it was, a few were trickling out, calling out requests for carpools and rushed goodbyes as they went. He was admittedly exhausted by the time Bossuet maneuvered Joly out of the door, the last two to leave.

He took a deep breath as Combeferre held him close in their kitchen, “They’re a lot,” he said.

“Too much?” Combeferre asked, and Grantaire took care to shake his head. “They’re fun, right?”

“Yeah, and you’re kind-of, a little bit good-looking if I squint a little,” he replied, shaking his head. He got to work, scrubbing the one dish that Courfeyrac left once Jehan said they were tired. He had taken off like a bat into the night, as though Jehan had said they had been bitten by a wild lion and was bleeding profusely. And so one dirty dish remained.  “They’re amazing, Ferre.”

Combeferre leaned against the counter, watching him fondly, “I’m happy you agree.”

Once the dish was rinsed, and his hands were dried, Grantaire sighed out and shuffled out of the kitchen. “Now, please, I was ready to sleep four hours ago.” Combeferre put up no fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing all Les Amis together is always something daunting to me. I'm always afraid of relinquishing the characters to their tropes, and I have read over this particular chapter probably too many times. It needed to happen, though! Disclaimer should be put here that Marius and Cosette don't figure as heavily into this fic as they may have--it may change as I proofread, but they're not as central as, say, Joly and Chetta and Bossuet (or Feuilly and Bahorel, but that's because they're in my top ships). 
> 
> Anyway, I hope this lived up to any excitement! Like I said, updates will be fairly quick, as long as I'm content with the chapters written. Thank you to everyone who's read so far, and to everyone who's beginning to read now!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Grantaire pushes Enjolras, Combeferre resumes an old struggle, and Grantaire resists to do just that.
> 
> (Or, rather typical Grantaire/Enjolras dynamics, and their effect on those around them, particularly Combeferre)

Since they all had jobs, and more often than not just saw Ferre when they forced him to take a break from his university work and go to lunch with them, Grantaire didn’t see any of them for a few days. The first one he _did_ see was Enjolras.

He greeted him, knowing he must have looked crazy, what with green paint in his hair and on his skin. But he couldn’t have cared less, what with Enjolras’ presence providing a strange distraction.

“Enjolras,” he said, smiling, “How are you today?”

“Is Ferre here?” the blond replied, to-the-point.

Grantaire leaned against the doorframe, “’Just fine, Grantaire, thank you for asking. I was wondering where Ferre was.’” When Enjolras furrowed his brow, clearly already frustrated with whatever it was that needed Combeferre’s attention, Grantaire sighed, “He’s not back from the lab yet.” He leaned back to sneak a look at the clock that hung. “Shouldn’t be too much longer, though, if you wanted to wait.”

Enjolras considered, pursing his lips in thought before he tilted his head. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all, please,” Grantaire responded, and stepped aside to let him in. Enjolras walked comfortably into the living room, where he promptly was stopped by the shock of a canvas in the middle of the space. “Sorry about that--”

“What is it?”

“What I’m painting?”

“Yes,” Enjolras was studying it so carefully that Grantaire was afraid of disappointing him with the real answer. But he had no other answer to give.

“Nothing, really. I’m just painting. It’s, uh--it’s the idea of creation, you know? If I have something in mind, then I’m on another plane, because I’m envisioning it and translating it into something mechanical,” Grantaire explained, moving around the room to clear space better for him. “But...just painting lets me really be present, really feel everything that’s happening.”

“Oh,” Enjolras said, still looking at the canvas--it was just colors thrown together. Grantaire didn’t know what he was looking at. “It’s really beautiful. It kind of looks like ivy.”

Grantaire dutifully looked, seeing if he could see it, even though there was nothing to see. “Sure. Yeah, maybe.” After a moment, he added, “Thanks.” When Enjolras turned away from the painting, Grantaire gestured to the couches around, “Feel free to sit. Need anything to drink or--?”

“No, thanks,” Enjolras replied, his lanky legs spread slightly as he sat. It was only then that Grantaire realized that he was holding a book, his thumb running through pages in his hands.

“What’s that?” Grantaire asked, nodding towards the book.

“Oh, um, I wanted to show Combeferre. I’ve probably dog-eared it too much, but it’s about women in the American revolutionary war--there were two hundred and thirty six known women who fought or otherwise helped. You know, 236 women that didn’t exist according to the school system here,” Enjolras joked, a wry smile on his lips.

Grantaire smiled in response, leaving the easy conversation up to its course, but Enjolras didn’t offer anything else. So Grantaire decided to pick it up. “So they’re people that very few people know existed? Or did anything?”

“Right. And it’s important to honor their memory--”

“Okay, yeah, I agree with you there, but if no one knows about them, is there anything we can do? They’re gone, and we’ve already long-since revised the idea that history belonged to only men--we know women existed--so is there a reason to keep reading about these women that people aren’t going to learn about?”

Enjolras’ eyes were wider than they had been, blinking as he worked through what Grantaire was saying. Truly, he wasn’t saying anything except for words to fill up silence. Words to keep his eyes on him. He would have felt strange, craving that attention, but he had always known he was a visual person. And Enjolras fit every bit of what he visually craved. Or that anyone craved.

“Grantaire, I--,” he began, and then he started again, more certainly. “That is precisely _why_ we have to read about them. We have to read about these women--” he shook the book for emphasis, “And about women across countries--about Madame de Stael, and Fatima Muhammad Al-Fihri Al-Quraysh and--”

“Who?”

“Exactly!” Enjolras said excitedly, his eyes bright. “We don’t know these women. And we _should.”_

_“_ I don’t dispute that,” Grantaire shrugged, leaning back into the couch, “But I guess...oh, I guess it centers around belief in eternal quality of souls and all that, if they can even sense remembrance.” Once he decided that, he hummed in consideration, “And we can’t really blame historians. They just did what they were encouraged to do. And isn’t that why we do everything?”

“What?” Enjolras straightened in his seat, “What? No. We do much of what we do because of the society we live in, of _course_ , but we have abilities to change that. Once we’re self-aware, then--”

“Yeah, but--”

“Will you stop interrupting me?” Enjolras huffed, with an authority in his voice that told Grantaire it was definitely not the first time he said that. He held up his hands in surrender, and Enjolras continued. “Once we’re self-aware, we can move beyond what society deems for us and what upbringing deems for us, and instead do what our souls demand--and so often, our souls demand goodness. Once people know the wrong of this world, so often the response is to try and unlearn all of that, and bring to justice all that has been _denied_ justice before.”

Grantaire let a pause in before he took a deep breath, “Jesus. You always talk like that, huh?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re addressing a whole crowd,” he answered, laughter seeping in.

Enjolras closed his eyes. He actually closed his eyes, and Grantaire was sure that if he spoke out loud, he would be counting to ten. “I’ve had to explain this a few times--it’s just a matter of experience. But I really do believe that we owe it to ourselves and to women that we read about--those that history has buried.”

“And as thrilling as that speech was, I’m not quite so certain,” Grantaire said honestly. Enjolras studied him for a few beats. Just as he looked like he was about to open his mouth, engage him further, Grantaire spoke once again. “Apollo.”

“Excuse me?”

“The Greek God of music, poetry, healing--”

“I know who Apollo was, Grantaire...”

“Ah, look who’s interrupting now,” he smiled.

“Thought I should return the favor,” he countered. Enjolras went on, despite Grantaire’s grin. “Why did you say Apollo?”

“You _are_ , Apollo, aren’t you? An incarnation?” He considered for a moment, “I thought for a while that Combeferre was Apollo--math and healing, and all that--but those visual interpretations of Greek gods have a weird way of white-washing in appearance, even though they’re deities, so here we are, looking at you.”

Enjolras looked at him like he had three heads, his face displaying nothing but confusion. “Why are you saying this? What are you trying to say?”

“Nothing!” Grantaire laughed then, leaning his head on the couch. “But if I had to say what Apollo looked like in his natural form or whatever, it’d be remarkably close to you.”

Enjolras furrowed his brow, “Okay. Okay, Grantaire.” He was quiet for another moment, and then moved on. “What you were saying before--about only behaving because of encouragement. What did you mean?”

“Are you familiar with behaviorism? Skinner? Pavlov?” He asked.

“A bit. In terms of training animals and the like, of course, but those are animals.”

“So are we,” Grantaire insisted. “We may not reward people in the same outright way as treats, but we do things that we’re encouraged for. I think we’re a bit helpless to do _only_ that, actually, if I can get radical.”

Enjolras blinked, “So...everything that I do, you would think that I only do it because somehow I’m being rewarded for it?”

Grantaire thought for a moment and then nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

Enjolras straightened up, his eyes fiery once again, but was interrupted by the door opening, and he turned immediately. “Ferre!” he rose along with Grantaire, who smiled and waited dutifully to hug his boyfriend after Enjolras claimed the first. As he hugged him, Enjolras began to speak. “I came over to give you this book, because I hadn’t known much about them, and it was...it was a _really_ good book, so--yes, I brought it for you.”

Combeferre let go of Grantaire to hold the book, nodding and smiling. “Great! Great, thank you, Enj. How are you doing?”

“I’m fine, yeah, um...Grantaire and I were just talking.”

“Oh? Well, don’t let me interrupt you,” Combeferre said, setting down his bag and coat.

“I actually just wanted to get home. Courf’s mom is coming over, so I need to pick up a few things on the way, but--thank you,” Enjolras seemed to be bristling, and Grantaire wondered exactly what he was going to say before Ferre walked in, things that he didn’t want to say in front of his best friend--who was also Grantaire’s boyfriend.

_Were you about to take me down?_ The thought made him smile in amusement while Enjolras shuffled out the door.

“So, out of curiosity, Enjolras,” Grantaire called, causing him to turn back. “Sybil Ludington in there?”

Enjolras quirked an eyebrow, “After denying that we need to read about forgotten people of history, you know one of them?”

“Paul Revere was a downright fuckboy. Of course I know Sybil,” he was still smiling. “Goodnight.”

The door shut. “What’d you say?” Ferre asked, moving into their kitchen once Enjolras left. Grantaire followed.

“Sorry?”

“I caught the very end of that conversation, but I know you and Enjolras enough to know you said something or many somethings to make Enjolras act that weird around me, R,” he said patiently. He leaned against the counter, and Grantaire walked to face him.

“I just...questioned. Engaged him in conversation,” he answered.

Ferre hummed, “How innocent that sounds.”

“That’s all I did.”

“I don’t believe you for a second.”

“No?” R smirked, stepping forward and looping his fingers into Ferre’s belt loops. “That’s a shame.”

Combeferre sighed and actually stepped away from him. Grantaire could admit that he felt a bit hurt at being rejected so openly, but still watched him. “Enjolras...is intense. I guess I should have said this before we moved back here, but I’m saying it now, and he is intense. Your sarcasm, or Devil’s Advocacy--he may take it seriously, and it may not be the most pleasant situation when he does.” His tone was that of a very calm teacher or other authority figure. Grantaire blinked, trying to understand when exactly this tone had been used against him before. Though they’d had little spats--Ferre had never said things like he was saying them now. It made R confused at the least, and hurt further at most.

“So should I censor myself around him?”

“No, I’m not saying that.”

“It sounds like you are.”

“R, please, I walked in today to you smiling and Enjolras nearly tripping over himself to leave,” Ferre snapped, and Grantaire dutifully nodded. He was right about that observance at least. “He’s my best friend. And I would hope that he feels comfortable to stay around here if he wants to.”

Grantaire sighed, “I can play nicer with Enjolras, Mr. Combeferre.”

“Don’t be an ass.”

“Oh my God! Ferre, oh my God, okay,” he said, reaching out to run hands down his boyfriend’s arms. “I’m serious. I won’t provoke him.”

“Please, don’t.”

“I _won’t_ ,” he promised. After a moment of looking at Ferre, he leaned up to kiss him. “I was just having fun.”

“I know you were,” Ferre admitted, his arms wrapping around Grantaire’s shoulders. “You’re a handful, I swear.”

“Oh, _am I?”_ he grinned, causing Combeferre to roll his eyes. “You’re _two_ handfuls.”

“Why are you being an absolute shit today?”

“Boredom, generally, but also my natural state,” he responded, “How was the lab?” He supposed he could perform domestic duties as well.

Combeferre only sighed, “Test subjects are harder to come by than we thought. Once we have _them_ , then we can get the results all out on the table, but we just don’t have that information. It’s a lot of calling and inquiries, not lab work at all.”

Grantaire hummed, “I’m sorry no results are on table.”

“--Interesting clipping of the words.”

“You know what _is_ on the table?”

“Oh, are you playing with my words, then?”

Grantaire ignored the question so that he could smile and say what he wanted, “A blowjob is on the table.”

“You are _really_ being a shit. It’s absolutely incredible.”

“Ferre, I literally just offered you a blowjob,” he deadpanned, fingers threading his belt loops once again to make a point. “Come on.”

He hummed, smiling in spite of himself, “What a marvelous boyfriend I come home to.” He hesitated for a moment as Grantaire began to lower himself to the ground, “We should move to the bed. You’ll hurt your knees.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes as he sank lower, pulling at Ferre’s pants as he went, “Will you please let me seduce you?”

The next morning, pouring himself coffee, Grantaire spoke about what had been on his mind since. “You never talked to me like you did last night, when you were mad that Enjolras was uncomfortable,” he noted, reaching for the cream.

“Oh,” Ferre looked over his phone, where he was reading something or other. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Nah, you meant to get your point across. Did a damn good job,” R continued. “I just wasn’t expecting it.” He sat down across the small table. “It wouldn’t be like that if I were teasing, like, Courf or someone, would it?”

Ferre sighed and reached for R’s hand, “Enjolras takes things differently. That’s all.”

Grantaire hummed, sipping his coffee, “Fair enough. I was just wondering.” After a moment of what could have been awkward silence if he let it become so, he spoke again, “You had a hot teacher going on for a while there, though.”

“I need to get to work,” Ferre laughed, pushing away from the table. It was easy to act like this with him, light-hearted and all that they were used to, in the new light of the day and the days after.

But Combeferre knew things weren’t normal, and it was weighing on him more and more, especially since he was keeping it from Grantaire. These things were still bothering him during his lunch break a few days later, when Combeferre found himself sitting on the couch in Enjolras, Courfeyrac, and Marius’ apartment, having fallen victim to what had become an impromptu fashion show. Though Courfeyrac and Enjolras were, by the sounds of it, arguing in Enjolras’ room, Combeferre was safe from such while he sat with Marius, who had no ability to refuse his friends.

“So,” Combeferre started, “How’ve you been?”

Marius always had the look of someone who had had his headphones in his ears when he noticed someone talking to him. He had been that way from the day that Combeferre had met him, always looking afraid once he realized someone was addressing him. His confusion surrounding the only person in the room talking to him would have made more sense if he was literally wearing headphones, but he was not. “Oh--oh, I’ve been good,” he said, his eyes wide. “Yes, I’ve been good.”

“Good, Marius,” Combeferre smiled, trying to put him at ease. “And Cosette?”

“Oh, she’s _wonderful_ ,” he answered, looking down at his hands as he grinned shyly.

“I’m glad,” he said quietly, and was secretly relieved when Courfeyrac emerged, clearing his throat.

“Through very many arguments, most of which I would like to note were begun by Enjolras being a stubborn fool, I have wrangled him into something worthy of being credited to myself,” he began. “So, Enjolras?” And he opened the door a bit wider.

“You’re so dramatic,” he grumbled, coming out of his room and tugging the button-down just slightly. Combeferre knew the reason of this fashion show was to celebrate the time that Enjolras allowed Courfeyrac choose clothes for him, a time which Combeferre had missed. So he wasn’t surprised when Enjolras emerged in something that Courfeyrac would wear, all sleek and tight and not at all like Enjolras.

He laughed, then, not out of shock for how he looked, but to cover up the pangs that hit his chest nearly immediately. He’d had guilt since that very first night back, when Enjolras came toward him for a hug and his stomach flipped in nervous excitement, the same nervous excitement that he’d felt for years whenever Enjolras became close to him.

_Why haven’t you left?_ He asked his inner self, annoyed at best and panicked at worst for how familiar it was to be thinking of Enjolras in such a romantic sense. He had missed this so badly, had missed laughing with Courfeyrac and Enjolras. But he could not say he missed the confusion that came with noticing exactly how Enjolras’ hair had grown out over months of being away, or realizing how much he had missed the way his _back_ curved. It was wholly unpleasant.

He had believed, however foolishly, that he was ready to come back. With the way he was with Grantaire, when they were alone--he had believed that it would be enough.

“You look great. You really do,” he said, knowing he couldn’t pause too long without being suspicious. “Compliments to the chef.” Courfeyrac beamed, and then ordered Enjolras to turn, to walk around the room in his tight, European-cut shirt and slim slacks.

“This shirt is so _tight_ ,” he complained. The way he wrinkled his nose for emphasis made Combeferre laugh, though he had to cough to disguise how strained it sounded.

He knew that it wasn’t the same type of love he had once felt. No, he knew that he could go home after this meeting and not obsess over every word, every look, every touch. He had been that way after countless meetings in undergrad. He was confident now that he could return home and be the partner that Grantaire deserved, and shake off what lingered when he looked at Enjolras.

When Courfeyrac ordered Enjolras to stand with his back towards Ferre, he put his foot down. “This is ridiculous,” he huffed, though his cheeks betrayed a pink blush. “I’m changing.” Ignoring Courfeyrac’s attempt to enter the room with him, he was left outside to sit with Combeferre on the couch.

“He is so beautiful,” Courfeyrac sighed. “I’m only trying to help him look his best.”

Combeferre patted his shoulder, “You did your best. You got one outfit out of it.”

“I did,” he said proudly, before he dropped his voice. “You’re good, Ferre?” For all of his antics, for all of his embarrassment at times--Combeferre had to admit that there were few people who were more genuine than Courfeyrac.

So he nodded, smiling, “I’m very good.”

“Grantaire’s really cool,” he continued, folding his legs under himself in excitement. “I’m happy you found him in that godforsaken place.”

“It was not a _godforsaken place_ \--”

“It didn’t have me,” he pointed out. “But, seriously, he’s really cool.”

Combeferre hesitated, looking over his shoulder to make sure that Marius was appropriately distracted at that point, and dropped his voice. “Enjolras doesn’t seem to be a fan,” he half-whispered, Courfeyrac leaning in on impulse. He came over the other day to give me a book, and Grantaire...he has a weird sense of humor. It didn’t really go well.”

“He didn’t say anything to me,” Courfeyrac offered.

Combeferre gave a wry smile, “I’m sure he doesn’t want any trouble. There’s no reason to start picking sides when there’s not a division yet.”

“True,” he replied, and then he backed away suddenly. “How about we try to plan another big get-together? We could make sure they bond, see everybody again. It could be fun.”

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe,” Combeferre said, not sure if that would be the way to fix things, but he wasn’t about to deter what was a harmless suggestion. He couldn’t say that it wouldn’t be a good idea to be around Enjolras when plenty of other people were around. That was probably good for now. “I should head back to the lab.”

“You working stiff,” Courfeyrac smiled, then yelled for Enjolras, “Ferre’s leaving!”

Hurriedly, Enjolras emerged in a sweater that he was still pulling over his head. “Wait, wait,” he pleaded, finishing dressing himself and then walking to wrap his arms around his friend. “Come over here during lunch any time, okay?”

“Okay, Enj, thanks,” Combeferre said, only letting go when Enjolras did. He followed with a hug from Courfeyrac, and then had to jog back so that he didn’t get punished for taking an extra-long lunch.

As he paid attention to tiny details in a sea of experimental data, he found respite enough to forget that big detail of his life, the one that had been enough to make him run away. The one that wasn’t a huge fan of his current boyfriend, though he could hope that Courfeyrac’s plans could help smooth that out.

Combeferre took a deep breath, resolving to focus on his work, and pushed away the feelings he couldn’t allow himself to have anymore. He said nothing of Courfeyrac’s possible plans to Grantaire, though, so it was all a surprise to him.

Grantaire had returned to the painting he had been working on, only to be interrupted by his phone ringing.

“Grantaire!” Courfeyrac said joyfully, as if he were surprised that the person he had called had picked up the phone.

“Courfeyrac,” he replied. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Oh, don’t flirt with me, sir, we’ll hurt poor Ferre’s feelings.”

“When love is strong, one cannot deny it.”

“That’s fucking smooth! Jehan!” Courfeyrac called, not bothering to hide his shout from the phone’s mouth. “Grantaire just spit poetry. You have to talk to him. Wh--okay, sorry. Jehan just came over to sage stuff. I have to be quiet. Hi Grantaire.”

“Hi Courfeyrac,” he laughed. “What’s going on?”

“I am in communication with the rest of the family--”

“Like Charlie Manson ‘family’?”

“Oh, shit, man,” Courfeyrac laughed. “No, you know what I mean, but...shit. Okay, anyway, there is a tentative plan for everyone to get together on Friday, and I obviously wanted to extend the invitation to you and Ferre, so here is your invitation.”

“Cool, cool, thanks,” Grantaire replied, trying to keep tightness in his chest from being heard over the phone. “Friday night?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’ll talk to Ferre, yeah, thank you,” he continued, smiling in an attempt to hide his nerves better. “Ah--I’m in the middle of painting, actually, so--”

“Yeah, cool! See you soon!” Courfeyrac said loudly, chipper until the instant he hung up.

R breathed. He would talk to Ferre, obviously, but he knew what those nights usually included. They included bars, or at least some place with alcohol. What else was there? Going to the fucking movies? Group tour of a fucking museum? If it was Enjolras or Joly who extended the invitation, maybe, but he wasn’t that lucky.

He couldn’t trust himself, not yet. Could he? Being around everyone, and everyone progressively losing more and more of their nerves and inhibitions, smelling all that he once loved and had allowed to destroy him--could he do it?

He didn’t know. But what he did know was that Ferre loved him, and that he loved Ferre now, and he wasted no time in telling him what he had been thinking about all day. “Courfeyrac invited us out. With everyone,” he told him.

“He did? He was saying he wanted to get everyone together.” And Grantaire felt his heart beat a bit faster in its anxiety when he saw what a smile that brought to Ferre’s face.

“Yeah. Yeah, he did,” he replied.

It was only then that Combeferre seemed to realize Grantaire’s discomfort. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s...going out,” Grantaire confessed, running a hand through his hair. “He meant a bar, didn’t he?”

“I don’t want to confine Courf to expectations, but--there’s a good chance we’ll end up in one. Yes,” he swallowed, reaching out to touch his face, “God, I should have made the call. So...we can make some other plans?”

“Fuck, no, Ferre, I can’t do that.”

“I’m not going to make you step anywhere near a bar, R.”

“And I’m not going to make you choose me over your friends,” he countered, taking a deep breath. “I’m fifteen months sober. You’ll be there to hold me accountable.” He was talking out loud, identifying his problems with his partner. This was good; this was what he needed to do. “I can be okay.”

Ferre seemed less convinced. “Look, I’ll let Courf know that we may have plans, and if you still want to go, then he’ll be happy that our other plans fell through, but if you don’t--he’ll understand.”

“That sounds good, yeah,” Grantaire breathed, and he leaned into his boyfriend.

Ferre’s fingers pet through his curls, “I’m sorry if I talked down to you last night. I’ve been thinking about it all day.”

“It’s okay,” he answered immediately.

“I’ll still watch myself,” Ferre resolved. They rested there for a while before they got up to make some kind of dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't listen to a word of Grantaire's annoyingly immature psychology lessons. Behaviorism is so much more complex than what he is saying, especially because what he is saying is specially tailored to annoy Enjolras as much as possible. 
> 
> Any of the people mentioned in passing really don't need to be explained for the course of the story, but feel free to look them up if so moved. Sybil Ludington, if context clues don't suffice, warned American colonists about approaching British forces, very similar to the famous Paul Revere. However, she rode twice the distance than he did, and was only 16 years old (compared to Paul Revere's forty years). What a gem. 
> 
> The next chapter will most likely be up in a week! I have a busy time coming up, and I want to make sure it's all proofread well! 
> 
> Thank you all for reading and for all the kind words so far. I'm so happy to be talking with such amazing people, and so early on in this fic. Please come say hi on [Tumblr](http://lesbiamy.tumblr.com) if you haven't already!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Grantaire and Eponine become friendly, Enjolras is pushed too far, and Combeferre is already at his wit's end.

As it turned out, Grantaire’s worries were for naught. With everyone on slightly different schedules, they weren’t the ones who ruined plans for that Friday, or the next, or any other day that everyone tried to get together. Besides the homecoming night, it took them two months to get everyone together again.

“We used to have meetings when we were all in undergrad,” Feuilly told him in the car. “So that was really easy, like, we’d just all be together in a couple weeks, do some social justice shit, group text as always. It was all good. Then graduation came--”

“And got us all pregnant,” Bahorel finished.

“When are you going to stop doing that every single fucking time I say a variation on _come_?” Feuilly had turned to him, making R laugh with the way his tone had changed so quickly. He sighed and turned back to R, “He’s gotten too comfortable.”

“I’m right here,” Bahorel objected.

“I’m thinking of putting him on probation,” Feuilly continued.

“What the fuck--”

“Becoming a white suburban PTA mom, just withhold boring sex in a dark room at 9 o’clock on a Sunday night until I get some romance again,” but by then he was cackling, allowing Bahorel to pull him into his chest, and R didn’t need to hear anything but muffled muttering to know Bahorel was whispering filth right next to him.

When they turned yet another corner, Grantaire shouted to Combeferre in the front, “Where are we going?”

“We’re just picking up Enjolras--”

“Doesn’t he live with Courf and Marius, too?”

“Yeah, but he wasn’t ready when they left, so we’re the second chance,” he replied, and then looked in the rearview mirror. “You okay?”

“Yeah, of course. Where’s he going to sit, though?”

“I call shotgun!” Bahorel yelled, and R hadn’t even realized he was listening. Ferre was left to sigh.

“All right, just move this stuff carefully from the front seat when we get there,” he said. Grantaire mouthed _carefully_ along with Bahorel, laughing after and causing Ferre to look behind him. They gave no hint they did anything wrong, save for the glint in their eyes.

They pulled up in front of what was apparently Enjolras’ apartment building, since he was waiting outside, and Bahorel jumped out immediately to claim his seat and to start moving the ancient laptop that Ferre had been given for his lab work by the university. It was a piece of shit, but it had fucking everything.

After Bahorel joked about dropping it twice on the sidewalk, he managed to secure it safely in the back, leaving Enjolras to climb in. Grantaire was sadly in the middle, something he should have thought about before.

“Hey, Enjolras,” he greeted politely. He even received a tight smile before Enjolras reached over him to grasp Feuilly’s hand warmly before sitting back. “So you, uh, weren’t ready before?”

“Those curls don’t coif themselves, R,” Bahorel said from the front, causing Enjolras to click his tongue, and Feuilly to reach forward and swat his shoulder.

“I had gotten too caught up in an assignment--I needed to change,” he explained with a sigh. “And I wanted to wear this, because Feuilly got it for me.” At the prompt, they all looked over to see his sweatshirt. It was remarkably plain: a zip-up hoodie in solid burgundy.

“I got you that because your other sweatshirt had a hole in it from the riot that broke out two months ago,” Feuilly said.

“It’s my favorite,” Enjolras stated. They exchanged a smile with Grantaire between them.

“It’s my favorite, too,” Grantaire chimed in, earning a confused look from Enjolras. He didn’t much care. At least he said something. In any case, he thought it was funny.

The ride was quick, but it was made a thousand times more uncomfortable with Enjolras smashed up against him. He was a skinny little thing, but Grantaire was too stocky to be next to an average-sized Feuilly and still have room for another person. But they made do.

“This fucking place,” Bahorel muttered in the front, and it was then that R had realized that they had arrived and also that his mouth was fucking dry. He had no idea where those thoughts even _came from_ , and he forced himself to lock them away for a long, long time. Preferably forever, if he could swing the luck.

He slid out of the car after Enjolras and waited for Ferre as he checked on the status of his laptop. “Still in one piece?”

“Always barely,” Ferre sighed, and then he smiled, hooking an arm over Grantaire’s shoulders. He pressed a kiss to the top of his head so that he could whisper, “We can go home any time.”

“I know,” he said back, looking up at him and offering what he hoped was a certain smile. He couldn’t be sure. What he was sure about was that there was no reason that he couldn’t have a pleasant night, as long as he kept himself present and refuse any pressure that could come his way. From what Combeferre had told him, given their strong feelings about letting people live the lives they wanted to, he didn’t believe any of them would pressure him into doing anything. Still, it was a hard place to be in.

His thoughts were heavy as they went in the bar, and he didn’t shy from any of them. It was better to be deep in thought in a place that he really didn’t want to be in, with drops over all surfaces of something that destroyed his life numerous times over. He couldn’t tell if he was relieved or worried when Eponine called out to him.

“All right, there, bud?” she asked, eyebrows lifting. “If you think this place is seedy--”

“No, no, not at all.”

“You look like you’re expecting something to jump from behind the counter. I promise, I’ve been to those places. It’s not here,” she came closer, distracting him from how Combeferre had been turned away to talk to his friends. “Drinking tonight?”

He was eternally grateful for the way the question was asked, leaving him to simply shake his head as if he was making a decision just like anyone else to not drink.

Eponine shouldered him on her way to the bar, “Me either. Soda?”

“Sure, yeah,” he answered, going with her. He nodded his appreciation as he sipped.

“How’s the adjustment being here going?” she asked.

He shrugged, “I’m trying to get a grasp on the community’s art scene, but that only comes in time. In the meantime, I’ve got digital commissions I can do, so it’s not like I’m going crazy without work.” He paused for a moment, “And your friends are great, so I can’t complain.”

“We know,” she said smugly, and he laughed.

He looked around the room, his eyes landing on Enjolras and how he was listening intently to Bahorel, even as everyone else smiled. “Can I ask you something?”

“What?”

“Is Enjolras usually intense with...new people?”

Eponine considered him for a moment, eyes narrowed, though not unkindly. “He’s pretty intense with all people,” she said after a moment. “Why?”

“I can be kind of a dick, and...we had a bit of a spat a while ago.”

“Ah.” She took a beat to sip her soda, “I didn’t get along with him for a while.”

“No?”

She shook her head, “I thought he was full of shit, honestly, this rich white boy telling me about struggle. But he’s damn persistent, and he checks himself when he’s saying stuff that begs him to check himself.” Eponine shrugged, “He’s a good person. But for me, he was an acquired taste.”

“An acquired taste,” Grantaire repeated, smiling as he did so. “People have said the same about me.”

“Well, there you go,” Eponine continued, “You’re just two acquired tastes to one another, playing chicken to see who will be the first one to bite.” Grantaire laughed quietly, leaning his back against the bar to watch their friends more easily. When Eponine was called over by some people Grantaire had never seen before, obviously some of her friends, he waved and went over to sit next to Bahorel, who was in the middle of regaling them all with some story or another.

Grantaire, for his part, was busy looking over at Enjolras, who was far from being the intense man that Eponine had just described. He sat with Combeferre, a short distance away from everyone else. And they were both laughing, caught up in a conversation only they knew. Grantaire watched them with a feeling like he shouldn’t be watching, like he was intruding on something. But he couldn’t understand what he would be intruding on.

It was true that Combeferre had a bond with Enjolras that he had with no one else, even Courfeyrac. Grantaire knew that from their first moments. He’d been friends with Enjolras nearly his entire life. In the way his mind hurtled itself, his thoughts drifted to the perhaps obvious question of a significant other being presented with a beautiful best friend who didn’t like that significant other: Had there ever been something between them? Was there still something?

He knew that the first fight with Enjolras had resulted in one of the first fights he had ever had with Combeferre. He replayed the intimacy of the hug, the moment that R had seen Enjolras for the first time. He remembered the way Ferre’s normally very serious, calming voice turned chipper and enthusiastic to match Enjolras’ when he received the book at their apartment.

Grantaire watched Combeferre talking to Enjolras, his face lighting up into a smile in response to whatever Enjolras was saying. With an unfamiliar pang to his chest, he found the smile familiar. It had been his, and only his, across the country. It had been his when Grantaire asked him out, and his their first date. It had been his during Jeopardy, and when he remembered little things that he had said about his friends.

Combeferre smiled that way at the people he loved.

 _It was one-sided. It was...always one-sided._ Grantaire hadn’t thought about who it could have been that Ferre had mentioned months and months before. But he was now. _And I understand that you--you, as my boyfriend--should probably know that I’m still friends with someone that I was probably in love with, and for a very long time._

Grantaire blinked. He couldn’t find it within himself to be angry, or even sad. He didn’t know what he felt. All he knew was that Ferre must have been in love with Enjolras at some time, for a very _long_ time, and he most likely still was. And Grantaire was here, homeless without him, and he really wanted a fucking drink.

He took a breath loud enough to attract his boyfriend’s attention. “Are you all right?” Ferre asked immediately.

Grantaire nodded rapidly, “Yeah. Yeah, sure, just need a seltzer or something.”

“Here, have mine while I get another,” he offered, already sliding his over and getting up after running his hand over Grantaire’s head. _How can I be upset with you?_

Grantaire turned to Enjolras, and before he asked why Ferre was so willing to keep him hydrated, he filled up conversation, “So, as I remember, we were interrupted the last time we spoke alone.”

“That was probably best,” Enjolras admitted, even laughing. It was amazing how Combeferre could make him warm up, even to Grantaire. “I was getting pretty annoyed.”

“Is that why you don’t talk to me much?” Grantaire smiled.

“Precisely,” Enjolras replied. He leaned forward slightly, “I have been thinking about what you said, then, though. I didn’t want to to fight you on something when I wasn’t sure of your position.”

Grantaire gasped, aware of the theatrics he was presenting, “Are you giving me the floor to talk about behaviorism?” Enjolras sipped on his drink and gestured as if Grantaire was welcome to literally stand and take the floor. “All right, well, in a nutshell, everything we do has consequences, right? Everyone can agree to _that_ , at least.” When Enjolras nodded, showing that he was following, he went on, “So I’ve just expanded that, personally, and I think we really only repeat things or want things that we know give us some kind of positive reinforcement.”

“So--,” Enjolras started to say, but was interrupted by Ferre’s return, setting a soda in front of R.

“I’ve been called away by Courf, so...”

“We’re just talking, all is well,” R assured him, smiling. Ferre nodded, a hand over his head once more as he went back to their friends. And Grantaire turned back to Enjolras.

“Can you give an example?” Enjolras requested.

“Sure, so--I wore this shirt tonight instead of leaving on my ugly paint-splattered rags because if I wore said rags, I would be getting some very negative feedback.” Grantaire said, laughter on his breath. He thought he saw Enjolras flinch for a moment, but he offered another example. “I like being around Ferre and his friends, your friends, because--if I’m being honest with myself--they give me validation for who I am that I wouldn’t get around any old group of people. It’s just--us as people looking for approval and feeling that approval out. That’s really all bonds are.”

Enjolras was getting tenser. There was no way to otherwise deny how his jaw was clenching and his eyes blinking rapidly as he shifted in his seat. “Are you breaking your relationship with Ferre down to...him _reinforcing_ your attention on him?”

Grantaire considered a moment before nodding, “Yeah, eventually you get to that point, sure.”

“That’s...no, I don’t think I can accept that,” Enjolras told him, his brow knitting. Grantaire’s eyes lit up, looking forward to a debate. “There’s too much between people--romantically or not--to simply dismiss it. There’s too much.”

“I agree there’s _more_ , but at the very core of it, it’s just choosing the people who gives the better reinforcement--”

“But what about when people don’t? What about when you see everything going along the ways that it had been, and the easy thing--the _reinforced_ thing, to use your language--is to just keep going. What about then?”

Grantaire hummed, “Right, you all were together in the social justice league or whatever--”

“Do you say this to Ferre or just to me? Would you say this to Feuilly?” Enjolras asked, and Grantaire was well-aware that the discussion they had been having mere minutes before was gone, replaced by this headache.

He shrugged, “I don’t know. They haven’t really gotten me to this point of my argument, I guess.”

“Well, then, by all means, keep going. Why do we still try to fix things that are messed up, even if it would be easier and much more relaxing to keep living through them?”

“I suppose I would say that there’s probably something down the line that validates you, yeah, even if it’s not immediately easy. Maybe it’s a martyr feeling or whatever,” Grantaire mused.

Enjolras stared at him, “So you’re saying that I can go along and be happy when I believe there is someone out there applauding me, even if I can’t see them. That I like being confronted with problems because they validate me.”

Even though he knew it was the wrong answer, that the right answer had long since passed him by, and that it was a very very very bad decision--Grantaire nodded. “Yeah, at least a bit.”

Enjolras stood from his stool, covering his mouth with his right hand. He didn’t look at Grantaire for a moment, and then he did. “You’re wrong,” he told him, in a tone so sincere that Grantaire wanted to prostrate himself in the face of Truth that was speaking then.

But he did not. Because his leg was twitchy in this fucking place and he couldn’t fucking stop. “You can’t just tell me I’m wrong, I--” he was even smiling.

“No, I can actually, because although I really try not to throw my personal experiences into the ring, this calls for it. Because you’re trying to tell me about myself, and you can’t, because you’re _wrong_ ,” Enjolras’ eyes bore into his, a brilliant blue if not for the fury they contained. “What about me, a few years ago, got positive validation? I was terrified, okay? I was terrified into wearing dresses and having my hair done up in barrettes. That was out of _fear_ , not out of reinforcement. And then after I went against _everything_ prescribed to me and sold to me and told to me, it was even worse. There’s nothing about me that was anything but _negatively_ reinforced for a long time. You want to talk about feeling martyred? I was threatened to my _face_. I don’t _imagine_ these dangers. They’re _real_ to me, Grantaire,” he said. “If I listened to what people told me, if I did what they told me to do because I wanted their validation, I would be dead in the _ground.”_

Grantaire knew he was done, and he could feel his resolve draining from him, and the exhaustion setting in. He wanted to spit out a thousand apologies, to admit his wrong, but he was captivated by the anger flowing out of Enjolras, the way his hands gripped the counter as if he was afraid of flying and hurting Grantaire. And he just kept going. “You want to know what kind of reinforcement I got from my _head_? You can’t know that, because going into that would destroy any self-peace that I’ve worked for. And other people? Jesus, of course I stuck with these people. It’s about more than positive reinforcement. It’s _safety._ And of course I want to be validated, because I’ve been invalidated my entire _life_.”

“R, what--” Ferre was at his side then, panic clear in his voice, and Enjolras looked at him with absolute betrayal. Just because he had said Grantaire’s name first, Enjolras looked like he had all but championed every one of Grantaire’s words. In another moment, he was pushing past the two of them and into Courfeyrac, who was pulling him away hurriedly.

“He just--I don’t know,” Grantaire said, though he very well knew what had happened.

Ferre pulled on his hand, “Let’s go home. We’ll talk about it.”

The cold air hit him hard as they climbed into Ferre’s car, the ride being filled with absolute silence. Grantaire wondered when it had shifted, when he could have opted out. He also knew, without a doubt, that he was definitely wrong. _God,_ he’d been so wrong. He knew he could be an absolute dick, especially when he was nervous, but had he really not examined what his argument sounded like to Enjolras, to a trans man? He felt absolutely sick with himself.

They said nothing when they climbed the stairs to their apartment, when he followed Ferre in and stood waiting for him to address him.

“Do you want to tell me what happened or should I tell you what it looked like?” he asked Grantaire, his voice already accusatory. And rightly so. When Grantaire didn’t answer, he took a deep breath, “I know it was hard for you being there, but did you have to provoke him _that_ far? Grantaire, I--I don’t even know what to say. I mean, honestly, that was the most that I have heard Enjolras talk about _himself_ in...I don’t know how long. Maybe for all the time that I’ve known him. He doesn’t _do_ that--he doesn’t get personal like that.”

He stopped talking for a moment, taking off his glasses and massaging the bridge of his nose. Grantaire only stared back at him. Ferre continued, “You hurt him, Grantaire.”

The words sank on him that boulders crushing his ribs. What could he say? Apologize to Ferre? He knew the person he had to apologize to was Enjolras, but he couldn’t think of doing that now. All he could feel was the same feeling of not being able to stop himself. “It’s Enjolras, right? The one that you were in love with, and probably still are?” Grantaire blurted out, “It’s him.”

Combeferre’s shoulders fell, his eyes growing more sad than any disappointment or anger that had lingered in them. He didn’t need to confirm it verbally with the stance he took then. But he did, and he sat down gingerly to do so. “Was I that obvious?” he asked quietly, bitter humor wearing his voice down.

“Yes and no,” Grantaire answered quietly, stepping forward to sit next to him. “If I wasn’t so fucking obsessed with you, I probably wouldn’t notice the little things that made it obvious, but when I did notice them--yeah.”

Ferre braced his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands. “Is this why you provoked him?”

“Honestly, Ferre, I don’t know why I did that,” he said, leaning forward to press his forehead against his boyfriend’s shoulder. It felt like they were breaking up. Grantaire wanted to stay that close forever to prolong it.

He took a deep breath and then sat back, looking at Grantaire with sad eyes. “I thought I could handle it. I--I _love you_ , and I thought that would be enough, but--” he shook his head.

“Yeah,” Grantaire replied, knowing it was unhelpful.

“I wasn’t expecting it, when I came back. I wouldn’t have dragged you here if--”

“I came very willingly.”

“You came without knowing that I hadn’t let go of him yet. _I_ came without knowing I hadn’t let go of him. And now--now, you’ve seen it, I take his side without thinking and walk away from you in a bar and...Jesus, I’m sorry,” Combeferre bit out, putting his face in his hands once again.

“Ferre, please don’t apologize for me being a dick. You should be able to leave me alone with people and expect I’ll be decent,” Grantaire said. “Look, I don’t know what you want to do, but I fucking love you and, as weird as it sounds, I really do have respect for Enjolras. I know I’ve been a dick about showing it, but maybe it was a weird subconscious jealousy thing. Who knows? But at least now it’ll be conscious and I can...try.”

Combeferre lifted his head, and Grantaire realized that his eyes were filling with tears. He’d never seen him cry, and he reacted with making a face, causing Ferre to hide his face.

“No, no, I’m sorry, here,” Grantaire said quietly, tilting his face towards him. The first tear spilled out, and he caught it with his finger down his cheek. “I can try. If you don’t want to break up or--”

“I don’t.”

“Then I’ll try. I’ll apologize to Enjolras however many times I need to. I’ll probably apologize to everyone else in the process, but I will do that,” he promised, feeling relief for how things seemed to fit, even if he had cheated some by pulling the rug out from Ferre’s feet. He wasn’t one to prolong arguments, though, so he forgot about his own guilt. “I mean, really, you being in love with him is a bit of a compliment for me.”

“You saying it is still so weird,” Ferre confessed, shaking his head of the quickly receding tears. “I was terrified of you noticing, but...now.” As if to prove his point, he drew a shaky, deep breath. “But how is it a compliment?”

“He’s an amazing guy,” Grantaire said honestly. “If anyone’s going to fucking change the world--”

Ferre nodded, smiling in spite of the strange circumstances. “It’ll be him.”

“--And then there’s _me_. Wow, you really don’t have a _type_ , do you?”

“Don’t be self-deprecating now,” Ferre requested, and Grantaire was left to close his mouth. He leaned forward, long fingers on Grantaire’s cheek as he kissed him. “You’re who I want.”

“Well, and Enjolras.”

“Grantaire, please,” he nearly whined, and Grantaire smiled. “You’ll try with him, at least? He’s my best friend, if nothing else.”

“I will,” he assured him. “As soon as possible.”

“Be...patient with him, please.”

Grantaire clicked his tongue, “Have faith in me, will you? It’ll be fine. We’ll talk, go on romantic walks, leave you to fantasize about us engaging in a love affair--”

“Can you please be serious?” he groaned.

“You wouldn’t like that?”

Ferre faced him, his expression stony. “I don’t like you _teasing_ about it,” he said. Before Grantaire could work out what he meant and ask him about it, he stood up. “I’m tired. Can we go to bed?”

Grantaire was too guilty about his conduct that night to refuse him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied about the update time--oh well. It'll motivate me later to get the rest finished. The next update I am sure will take me a bit to upload, just because of personal life things!!
> 
> Again--please do not take Grantaire's "philosophy/psychology" as anything but immature and meant to provoke someone (namely, Enjolras). We all know those people. Sadly, R is one of them.
> 
> I don't have much more to say! Happy reading, I suppose!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Grantaire and Enjolras push past the intimidation of awkwardness into an awkward meeting of apology.

“Hello?”

“Yeah, hi, is this Enjolras?”

“Grantaire?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed, wincing and looking at the ceiling. He had procrastinated for three hours after Ferre had left, even though he’d promised to call Enjolras immediately. Sue him--he was nervous.

“Well,” Enjolras said stiffly on the other end, “This is a surprise.”

“Oh, there’s more.” He swallowed, “I, um--okay, I want to apologize, but you deserve a better apology than over-the-phone, so I was calling to ask if you had time today to get a coffee or something.”

Enjolras didn’t answer for a while.

“Hello?”

“Yes, I’m here,” he said on the other line. He sighed loudly enough that Grantaire had to believe there was a hidden message within it. “Did Ferre tell you to do this?”

“Honestly? It would have probably taken me months to work up the dignity to apologize this formally alone, so--he’s a big reason, yeah.” He hesitated, but then went on. “You’re really important to him, and...he’s really important to me. I want to do this.”

“Apologize to me?”

“Yes.”

Again, he didn’t answer for a while, but Grantaire didn’t prompt him again. He spoke on his own time. “I have a night shift at the shelter tonight, but I can take some time this afternoon.”

“Great, cool. Um--does 4 work?”

“Not really. The shift starts at 5.”

“Shit, and it’s overnight? That’s a long shift.”

“It’s necessary.”

“Three?”

“Okay.”

Grantaire let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding, “Okay. Great. See you at three then.”

“Can you pick me up?”

“I...don’t have a car of my own here, and Ferre took it to work.”

“Oh,” Enjolras said quietly. “That’s okay. Um--”

“I think I saw one by--”

“There’s one two blocks from my building. Not the Starbucks, please.”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure, whatever works for you,” Grantaire was beyond questioning his choices. Or pointing out what he believed to be the useless boycott of a corporate coffee monster in the face of the general control capitalism had on the average human. But he was trying to refrain. And refrain he would. “I will meet you there.”

“Okay.”

Neither said anything.

“Well, um--” Grantaire finally tried, “I’ll see you later.”

“Okay,” Enjolras said again, “Bye.”

He hung up immediately. Grantaire looked at his phone. “Jesus,” he muttered, shaking his head.

He got distracted by some painting of his, adjusting little things, and by the time he looked for an acceptable outfit to wear out of the apartment, he realized that he desperately needed to do his laundry. Forced to take one of Ferre’s oversized sweaters, which fit him fairly well, he set out to walk to Enjolras’ building

And then from there, he walked over a couple blocks, trying to find this mysterious coffee shop that was _not_ Starbucks. And then he walked back, still looking. He crossed the street as he traveled the same area. “What the fuck--” he cursed to himself before pulling out his phone and calling Enjolras. He didn’t pick up, and Grantaire immediately redialed.

He picked up on the first ring that time, “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t find the place you talked about--did you get my call before this?”

“I thought it was a mistake call.”

“It wasn’t, but--okay. So where are you?”

“Hang on, I’ll come outside--you’re on Weaver Street?”

“Yeah.”

“So am I, um--” he paused as he presumably went outside. “Oh, I think I see you. Turn around?” Grantaire did, and he was met with a waving figure down the street a while. “Okay, bye.” And he hung up.

He jogged over, “Sorry about that.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Enjolras said quietly. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Grantaire was struck with how different Enjolras looked to him, in the light of the present day. He was more than someone he found attractive in an objective, visual way. He knew that he would turn his head to watch Enjolras if he saw him on the street, void of any other connection. But it was more; Combeferre, the man who Grantaire found to be the king of men, was in love with this creature of stunning beauty--it added more glow to his golden hair, an added definition to his delicately sharp features.

It caused more pain to the way Enjolras treated him so uncomfortably, keeping Grantaire firmly at arm’s length, both metaphorically and literally. “Well--after you,” he offered, opening the door.

He followed Enjolras’ subsequent direction to a table in the back, where a mug already sat. “I hope you don’t mind--I got mine when I got here.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine, um--excuse me for just a minute,” he said, throwing his jacket on the chair and then going to order a plain coffee. His fingers twitched before he got the mug, looking at the dimly lit place with far too many plants than was necessary. Of course Enjolras would suggest this hippie commune of a coffee shop. Of course.

He chastised himself for so easily picking apart pieces of Enjolras that he could debate about, steeling himself for going back to the other man that his boyfriend loved. That thought made him smile, some inside joke that Grantaire himself didn’t even understand. He should be jealous, uncomfortable--not making himself laugh. Perhaps he was going crazy after all, finally suffering the mental break that his lifestyle had promised long ago.

“What’s funny?” Enjolras demanded once he got closer.

Grantaire immediately stopped smiling, “Nothing. Nothing, I--nothing. I promise.”

Enjolras wrapped his hands around his mug as he sat forward, his collarbones clear and jutting in the position. “If this is a joke, Grantaire, tell me now.” His angles, from the collarbones to his jaw to his high cheeks, were the dream of geometries. Grantaire wondered if his boyfriend, the part-time mathematician, had made this connection in his affections.

“No, Enjolras, it’s not a joke,” he said patiently, as sincerely as he could muster. “I...yeah, okay, I’ll just get on with it then. I was an absolute dick last night. And that day a while ago. I know I don’t show it, but I really do respect you, Enjolras and--”

“You don’t show it at all,” he interrupted, and Grantaire shut his mouth. “You insulted everything I stand for, criticized my interests, and completely disregarded personal experience in your attempt to explain some dogma that I really don’t think you completely understand.”

Grantaire didn’t know what he had been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. Still, he listened. He waited until it was clear that Enjolras was done, at least for that time. “Enjolras, I--yeah. Yeah, I know I did. I’m really sorry. For all those things.”

Enjolras took a deep breath across from him and took a sip of his coffee. To fill up the silence, Grantaire continued. “I realized I was so out of line while I was still talking, and I should have stopped--”

“Then why didn’t you?”

He winced, “I have a major case of word vomit most of my life, though more so when I’m nervous.”

Enjolras pursed his lips. “You didn’t seem nervous.”

“No?”

He shook his head.

“I’m surprised,” Grantaire admitted. He ran a hand through his hair, “I was pretty twitchy. That’s why Ferre was so ready to get another soda.”

“Oh,” Enjolras said. “Sorry, but--I didn’t really notice.”

“It’s okay. Doesn’t excuse what I said,” Grantaire sighed. He wasn’t about to get into the reasons for his nerves then. “And when you asked before about Ferre forcing me to make right by you, I want to be clear that he did speed this up, but I really do want to be here. I want to listen and learn so that I don’t fucking insult anyone like I know I did to you. I would say that I don’t want to make an ass out of myself, but that’s probably asking too much.”

“No, that’s not the problem. You can always make yourself better,” Enjolras insisted, “The problem with that is that it’d still be about _you.”_

_“_ Interested--go on, please,” Grantaire requested, sipping his coffee. Enjolras tilted his head-- _Jesus, you have a god’s jawline--_ but it was clear that he was only hesitating. “I really do want to listen, Enjolras.”

“For Ferre?” he asked stiffly.

“So that I’m not a fucking dick and saying shit just to say shit.”

He took a deep breath before he set down his coffee mug with a definitive click to the table. “The problem with learning so that _you_ don’t look bad is that it takes away the experience of the people that you’re talking to. It’s fine to engage in debates, but it’s another thing to begin on a thesis of universal use and then don’t allow a person with a different experience to speak. Of course it’s usually a side-effect that you’re not a dick for letting other people speak, but if your first inclination isn’t taking into account other life experiences and considering how those experiences inform any philosophy--there’s something wrong with the philosophy.”

Grantaire blinked, slowly nodding. “Shit,” he laughed in a moment. “Shit, all right, yeah. I messed up.”

Enjolras looked away, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips, which he erased before turning back. “So when you were going on and on about how everyone can be reduced to little relationships of reinforcement and wants--”

“I needed to consider those who can’t be molded by expectations and reinforcements.”

Enjolras nodded, “Yeah. Yeah, that’s what I was trying to say last night, but--I got personal.”

Grantaire studied him for a bit, “Ferre said he hadn’t heard you talk about yourself like that before.”

“I try not to.”

“You...can, though. I know you said that others have to be your first thought, and I get that, but you can also think about yourself.”

Enjolras bit at his cheek, “I’d rather be accused of forgetting my own struggle for the sake of others than be accused of forsaking others.”

“Do you write this stuff down?”

“What?”

“There’s going to be, like, a BrainyQuotes page for you in no time. Here,” he said, reaching for a napkin and pulling a pencil from his jeans’ pocket. _I’d rather be accused of forgetting my own struggle for the sake of others than be accused of forsaking others._

After handing it to him, Enjolras looked between it and then back to Grantaire. “You listen really closely.”

“Like a fucking sponge,” he answered, grinning. “Can I get you another cup of coffee?”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay,” he accepted. Grantaire rose to refill the mugs that they had downed in their short conversation. Really, this place underestimated the ability of awkward people to drink quickly. He returned, only to meet Enjolras who was walking towards him. “I didn’t tell you that I needed an insane amount of sugar, so I figured I’d fix it myself.”

“Ah, a fellow fiend of sucrose,” he replied, pouring in his own ridiculous amount of such before handing the container to Enjolras. “If you have an overnight shift, make your caffeine as easily to swallow as possible.”

“Thank you for the advice,” Enjolras murmured, stirring it before sipping. He frowned slightly and poured a bit more in. “What do you do, by the way?”

_Right._ Enjolras was never around during their Skype introductions, had only seen his painting in passing, and that was usually only a hobby for people. He didn’t know. “I’m an artist,” Grantaire explained. “I like painting best, but I trained myself pretty decently in HTML, so I’ve been formatting website designs and shit for people to supplement nonexistent income.” He considered for a moment, “I mean, I’m looking into a couple jobs to help with rent and stuff now. I’m pretty handy, I would say.”

“What do you mean?” Enjolras asked finally happy with the amount of sugar in his coffee.

Grantaire shrugged, “I learn quick, and my hands are steady. You’d be surprised how far that gets you--repairing shit, temp work, landscaping when it’s warm. It can be done.”

Enjolras nodded seriously, “I think it’s excellent that you’re pursuing your artwork, though. I heard what you said to Eponine your first night here--about your family not supporting you.” Grantaire was surprised that he had been listening so closely, but then again--Enjolras seemed like the type of person who wished to surprise his audience. “I always think it’s sad when someone makes themself a slave to the wishes of a society so caught up in a very narrow idea of success, you know?”

“Yeah,” Grantaire agreed, though his lips quirked when he found Enjolras’ words to be ridiculously formal, as if he were constantly writing an academic essay. It was beautiful to hear, at the very least. “Yeah, same here.”

It started going downhill after that, Grantaire would be sad to report to Combeferre later on. He’d been so anxious, too, asking immediately as he came home, “How did it go?”

Grantaire demanded his kiss before explaining how well it had gone until the second cup. And then along the small-talk about favorite authors, Enjolras had mentioned Rousseau. “I couldn’t help it, Ferre, he was a raging misogynist.”

“Oh my God,” he groaned, his forehead against R’s shoulder. “Don’t you think he knows that?”

“He had just lectured about needing to take all experiences into account if you’re to champion something, to put it into context.”

Ferre sighed, “So then, after I am sure you made him go home and reread all of Rousseau’s works to make sure he is justified and educated in liking him?”

“He had to leave to get things together for his shift overnight or something, but I asked if we could do this again,” Grantaire recounted. He remembered the way Enjolras looked away for the moment, the golden afternoon sun shining on his skin and his red lips glistening with the rest of his coffee upon them. He remembered thinking, the millionth time that afternoon, how Combeferre had kept himself from giving into desire for so long, if he was struggling this much only one meeting in. And he remembered Enjolras’ answer. “He said he’d do it for your sake.”

“Jesus,” Ferre breathed, taking off his glasses and falling into the couch. “So this may be an extended affair of arguments between you.”

“I can almost guarantee it,” Grantaire answered. “But fear not, because we are committed.”

“Because of me.”

“Of course. I’m trying because you’re in love with him, I’m in love with you, and he’s trying because--he may be in love with you, honestly.”

“R, what are you saying?” Ferre asked, clearly exasperated.

“I’m still figuring him out, but--”

“No. No, be careful with that. There were times that I thought something was there. But he talks about his friends in a way that’s usually reserved for significant others. Don’t get it confused, please,” Combeferre pleaded before reaching out a hand, leading Grantaire to sit next to him. “I just...I know it’s very complicated right now, but I never want you to think there’s going to be anything. I’m with you.”

But Grantaire had to knit his brow together, even as he was tucked under Ferre’s chin. Because he hadn’t brought it up out of any sense of jealousy. He was amazed by the lack of jealousy he felt.

Ferre got up to order pizza, citing exhaustion to cook, and when he came back, Grantaire was smiling again. He’d figure out the weirdness soon enough. There was no rush to give into the paranoia he knew he was supposed to feel, knowing that his partner was in love with another man. He figured it’d come later, and for now, he just enjoyed the freedom.

“Is it weird that I’m looking forward to hanging out with him again?”

“No,” Combeferre snorted, “You like arguing more than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“Fair point,” he allowed, “But it’s more about just...arguing with _him_.”

Ferre considered this, easing back into the sofa. “He is quite good at it.” In the next moment, they heard his cell phone ring out an alert for a text, and he groaned. “I just sat down.”

“I’ll get it,” Grantaire offered, jumping up. As Ferre called out about him being a saint or something equally ridiculous, he saw that Enjolras had texted Combeferre.

_What’s Grantaire’s email address?_

Intrigued, he promptly answered.

_Thanks. Have a good night, Ferre! xx_

Grantaire shook his head, laughing to himself as he brought the phone back to Ferre. “Enjolras wanted to know my email.”

"Reading material is on its way,” Ferre grinned, watching as Grantaire pulled up his email on his laptop.

Sure enough, Enjolras had sent it immediately after asking for it. He read it aloud to a laughing Ferre, “ _After our discussion today, I wanted to bring to your attention new scholarship concerning the works of Rousseau. Some are expected historical context arguments, which I do not think can be disregarded, given the way society informs its most prolific authors. However, some are re-visitations of some of his works and arguments themselves, and I found it very informative. I’ll see you next Monday, if not sooner. Tell Ferre I said hello_ \--he literally just texted you goodnight,” Grantaire laughed, looking at the five articles Enjolras sent along. “Jesus.”

Combeferre was still smiling fondly when the pizza came. Truthfully, so was Grantaire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After this, the actual E/C/R picks up/begins, I promise! But I did have fun writing this chapter--Enjolras and Grantaire are always fun, even in these very awkward settings. 
> 
> I am almost actually finished with the whole fic! I mean, when I'm about to post a chapter, they go through a few rounds of revisions, but it's very exciting! This will be complete! Yay! (Just to let you know, there's twelve chapters now, but there may be a couple more.)
> 
> Thank you for anyone who's checking in! I hope you're enjoying reading it as much I am writing it (and annoying my [partner](http://archiveofourown.org/users/oispaceman/pseuds/oispaceman) with questions about how plotlines could play out. Enjolras would be nothing in here without them. You are the very best).


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Grantaire wonders, Grantaire dreams, and Grantaire is surprised into a decision.
> 
> (It took forever, but ECR can begin now, I believe)

“I can’t believe I’m in love with two people,” Grantaire said aloud, his eyes full of wonder.

“Isn’t it a bit fast to be--”

“No, you have to understand. You, of all people, have to understand!” He nearly shouted. “For God’s sake, Joly, you’re  _ dating  _ Musichetta! Jesus, add me the fuck on to this whole thing you’ve got going on here.”

Musichetta was laughing, accepting the dramatic flattery with grace. She’d come back from her trip and had been holed up with Joly and Bossuet for a while, but they had invited him and Combeferre over for dinner. And somewhere between Musichetta meeting Grantaire and promptly asking him if the dress she was currently trying on was sexy enough to turn a gay man--with a meaningful look at an eye-rolling Combeferre--and when she was forcefully ejected from helping to cook due to her propensity for stealing samples even if they had raw egg in them, Grantaire fell in love with this woman.

“Ferre, you must understand,” he said, turning to his boyfriend. When Combeferre rolled his eyes, Grantaire turned to Musichetta with a sigh. “Maybe he’s strictly monogamous.”

“You know, no offense, but I really can’t see the appeal anymore,” she admitted, shrugging as she set her glass down on a coaster. “When I’m home, I like being with both of them. When I’m away, it’s nice knowing they have each other. Puts me at ease as I save the world,” she smiled. “But you’ve definitely got to have the right temperament for it. Like dogs. You’ve got to have some good pups to be in a relationship with a few of them.”

“What--”

She sighed, “I shouldn’t talk about them like dogs. They’re the best boys around, I suppose. But I stand by the temperament thing. God made me polyamorous or whatever.”

“What about cool as hell?”

“That’s all me,” she smiled.

He laughed as Ferre pulled him close with an arm around his shoulders. “So, your trip--” Combeferre prompted.

“Yes! Yes, my fellow science researcher bee. So we’re actually preparing a bill to propose that would purify the water in--”

And they were off, allowing Grantaire to settle in comfortably as they said things that went completely over his head, deep inside of science terms and legal processes and talk about research finances. As for him, he was doing the thing that Musichetta, Joly, and Bossuet probably hated most--thinking about their relationship, trying to  _ figure it out. _

Who had this temperament? Who were those that could exist in a life with more than one partner, and feel happy? Secure? Most importantly, perhaps-- _ not jealous.  _

As many trains of thoughts tend to do, it eventually came around to himself. Because hadn’t he been dealing well with jealousy? Hadn’t Grantaire been relatively unbothered by the fact that his boyfriend was in love with another person, in addition to himself? And that person--hadn’t Grantaire had passing thoughts about Enjolras?

That was strange, wasn’t it? The narrative surrounding relationships was always  _ you haven’t found the right person.  _ Person. Singular. And there was a piece of himself that felt that perhaps he  _ had  _ found the right person for him.

So why was he not worried over Combeferre being in love with someone else, besides himself? It went against everything he had been told, everything he had seen depicted in any book or movie or television show surrounding any combination of lovers, though all combinations were  _ two.  _

There were jealous love triangles. There were always jealous love triangles, and Grantaire knew that he  _ should  _ be in one. He should look upon Enjolras in worry, in fear that his beauty and past with Combeferre would steal him away without even trying. 

Instead, he could only look upon Combeferre, his arm securely around Grantaire’s shoulders, and confuse himself over why he was so certain that Combeferre would not leave him, at least not for Enjolras. This was Combeferre, and Grantaire knew that he was as far from a cruel man as one could be. 

_ I am not in a jealous love triangle.  _

But Enjolras could not be ignored. And Grantaire wondered, as all of them sat down to eat, what it would be like to match the three chairs across from them. What would it be like to be joined by him, to laugh with Joly and Chetta and Bossuet as equals, as another set of three?

He was not foolish enough to believe that this equated to actual, real, deep feelings for Enjolras. But the piece of him that wanted something of what  _ they  _ had--laughing, smiling, two kisses instead of one when Joly had to get to his night rounds--was big enough to let the desire linger well into the night and as they got home.

“They’re really cool,” Grantaire said as he climbed into bed. 

Ferre put down his book, setting his glasses down next to it. “Yeah,” he smiled, “Yeah they are.”

“What did you think about, uh, Chetta saying that some people are monogamous and some aren’t?”

He hummed as he laid back against his pillow. “I don’t know. I never really thought about it.” He smiled as he picked himself up, winding a hand through Grantaire’s hair and kissing him. “Besides, I like what’s mine.”

The excitement flooding his stomach at Ferre’s tone was more than enough to cover the very confusing drop of disappointment in his blood. The admission was just as good as Combeferre explicitly saying he didn’t want to think about a polyamorous relationship, so Grantaire pushed his own growing desire for one to the back of his mind.

But in the coming weeks, Grantaire learned three things.

The first was that Combeferre never lost his discomfort at his weekly meetings with Enjolras being called “dates,” and that meant that Grantaire always called them dates. He would correct himself if he accidentally called them anything other than dates. He never missed one, though his punctuality could always be improved upon, often times rushing out of the apartment, shouting that he needed to meet Enjolras for their date. He just needed to hear Combeferre’s whining, the clicking of his tongue, the fiery eyes before he realized that Grantaire was always joking. 

The second was that Enjolras made this weird face when he wasn’t sure about what Grantaire was saying, but it was clear that he  _ wanted  _ to treat it negatively. Even if he didn’t feel negatively about it, Enjolras would wrinkle his nose, lift his upper lip just slightly, and study Grantaire’s probably grinning expression. He would especially make this face every time Grantaire called their meetings “dates,” though there were many other instances of use as well. 

For example, on one of them, Grantaire had somehow gotten on the topic of Genesis, and was currently ranting for all that could hear. “And then when they’re always like,  _ oh Eve was made out of Adam’s rib, so she’s all submissive and shit and made from man _ , like--first of all, _ ‘adam  _ doesn’t mean man at all. It means genderless humanity as a whole, so no man there. Second, the ancient Hebrew that they use for  _ rib _ doesn’t even mean rib! It’s closer to the word for  _ tail.  _ So if they want to talk about how God made Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve, they should really consider that God originally made nonbinary lizard people, and--”

“Did you study religion?” Enjolras asked, his face screwed up in that way that seemed suspicious of whatever Grantaire was saying.

He shook his head, “Nah. There’s a few good books out there, though. It’s pretty easy to find, and I’ll take any opportunity to say the words  _ nonbinary lizard people _ in conversation, so that’s where I’m at.”

Enjolras nodded, “It’s interesting.” Tapping his fingers on the table, he considered Grantaire again. He did this sometimes; look at Grantaire, or other people, and simply study them, as if he were looking for something else besides what they just said.

All it did to Grantaire was make him just as silent, nervous that he’d say the wrong thing.  _ We probably look like a couple, staring at one another like this, in a corner of a coffee shop. Do people think we’re on a date? No, no I could never date someone like Enjolras. He’s--he’s not my boyfriend, for one thing.  _ He coughed and looked away, struck by how strange his thoughts could turn if not immediately next to Combeferre. He wondered if it was wrong. He couldn’t know for sure.

The third thing Grantaire learned in those few weeks was that dreams were a very powerful force on one’s emotions. And if that seems unconnected to the other two, Grantaire would be inclined to agree. It would be a lot easier if his dreams weren’t connected to either Combeferre or Enjolras.

He had never paid attention to dreams. They were the brain’s filing system, the way a human being made sense of every day they lived through. He couldn’t tell you the exact chemicals accounting for what the unconscious saw in their mind’s eye, but he could tell you chemicals were definitely involved. They were random and not at all indicative of prophecy or subconscious desires.

But then he had a dream about Enjolras. He had a dream about beautiful Enjolras, his golden light flooding Grantaire’s eyesight so much that he couldn’t open his eyes all the way to see him. He had a dream in which he could reach out and be close to him, to feel the intimacy of someone that Grantaire  _ knew  _ was his partner in this dream. 

“Where’s Combeferre?” Enjolras asked in this space, for some reason Grantaire’s childhood backyard.

He knew Combeferre was his partner in the dream as well. “He’ll be home soon,” he told Enjolras.

And he hummed, smiled. “We should prepare dinner for him. He’ll be hungry when he comes home.”

“You’re right. But we’ll have to hurry.”

“We can just make bowls of cereal,” Enjolras offered, going inside to what now was the apartment Grantaire and Combeferre shared. “He likes that.”

“What kind of cereal?”

“The little kind.” The speech was the kind of nonsense that Grantaire usually used to convince himself that dreams mattered very little, but Enjolras’ action made him rethink such. As Grantaire looked around for the vague cereal, Enjolras wrapped his arms around him, pulling his back to his chest. Tall as he was, Grantaire felt him rest his chin on the top of his head. “Just like you.”

He turned around, feeling light and loved, and he kissed him. He kissed this beautiful, soft person behind him, melting into what seemed like a pot of warm milk and honey--it was the experience of Enjolras, golden Enjolras, who enveloped Grantaire with warmth and love, and  _ oh _ , when he awoke he could have wept.

Still, in his half-conscious mind, he folded against Combeferre in bed, promising himself that Enjolras would be there, too, when he came back to his senses.

When he  _ actually  _ woke up, it was hard to shake.

He woke up too late to join Ferre for breakfast, instead only feeling his boyfriend press a kiss to his head when he left. And that was probably easier. 

Because when he woke up, and he kept trying to go about his day and act like he didn’t get a taste of what life could be like with Enjolras--and it was fucking  _ delicious _ \--he couldn’t. He stared at his phone, trying to find the best way to start. 

He thought of Joly and Chetta and Bossuet. How did that happen? Was he just acting like this out of fetishization of their relationship? Did he really like Enjolras or was this just weird dream shit? What would Ferre think? Would he be jealous, even though he loved Enjolras, too? How would they fucking do this?

After probably too long of consideration, he got a text from Ferre as he was leaving the lab that evening.

Grantaire hesitated for about a minute before he sent back.  _ Cool.  _ That was it. He wasn’t about to admit that he had been thinking about how nice it would be to have a life-long threesome with Enjolras over text, even if that could have been easier. He almost sent a follow-up text, but then decided against it. He could wait.

How could he start that, though?  _ So I had a dream about making cereal for you with Enjolras, and even though he kind of really hates me possibly, I was thinking we could totally do this shit all together, because that’s totally an everyday thing you discuss over dinner, right? Yeah, let’s add him right the fuck on! _

“Fuck,” he said aloud, staring at the green painting that Enjolras had called ivy. By now, that meeting seemed worlds away.

He was still staring at the painting, no closer to figuring out what he wanted to say to Ferre, when he stepped inside.

He shook off his jacket, “It just started to pour out there,” Combeferre told him, oblivious to Grantaire standing awkwardly in the middle of their living room. “I hate being damp. I swear, everytime this happens, I have a new respect for postpeople--”

“I had a dream last night,” Grantaire blurted out.  _ Well, shit. No turning back now, doofus. _

Combeferre laughed, not knowing how to react. “Yikes. What about?” He turned to go to their bedroom, shedding his wet shirt as he went. If this were under different circumstances, Grantaire would be catcalling him by now. But he was feeling less than normal, and he had been all day. 

“Enjolras.”

His name, spoken by a stricken-looking Grantaire to a half-naked Combeferre, produced an unshakable change in the atmosphere between them. “What about Enjolras?” he asked, his voice slow and careful. 

_ Nothing. Who said anything about Enjolras? Was it me? That’s weird. I had no such dream. No such dream at all. I’m lying. I am such a fucking liar. I lied! Just joking! Why are you saying any of this?  _ Grantaire swallowed, “That we were dating. The...three of us.” When Combeferre didn’t answer, his word vomit got the best of him. “You, me, and Enjolras. We were talking about what cereal you’d like, being the perfect boyfriends for you. It was, like, this great stew that we had made among us three. A great dating stew were we. And--”

“You had a dream we were in polyamorous relationship with Enjolras,” Combeferre checked, his eyes serious.

Grantaire took a deep breath. “Yes.”

“And you’re not okay with having dreamed this.”

“I--,” he hesitated. There was no going back from this. Here was his moment:  _ yes, Ferre, I was actually really uncomfortable by it. Haha! What a laugh, right? You looked so scared! What a crazy idea! Really got you this time!  _ “I sort of wish I hadn’t woken up from it.”  _ Or you could admit that. Sure. _

Combeferre brought a hand to rest over his mouth, eyes on the floor. As the seconds passed--Grantaire knew it was only seconds, because he counted. He got all the way to sixteen Mississippis, even though it felt like forever--he could only wonder what he would say when that hand removed itself. He didn’t know if this would turn into a breakup conversation, or an enormous fight or--

“Are you saying this because you think it would make me happy?” he finally asked, and his tone wasn’t accusatory, or uncomfortable, or--anything but gentle. He was being  _ gentle.  _ Grantaire could have interrupted the whole thing to kiss him right then.

“I--it’s just what I’ve been thinking,” Grantaire said.

“R,” Combeferre said seriously, “Was this just after the dream, or was it before?” When Grantaire didn’t answer right away, he continued. “After we went to Joly and Chetta and Bossuet’s--you asked me what I thought, and--”

“Yeah,” he interrupted, nodding slowly as he looked at the floor. “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about it since then. I mean, serious backburner stuff, but--yeah.” He let out a breathy laugh, “Is this bad, Ferre?”

“I’m just trying to figure out if I could have been this reason. I never want you to think that you have to do anything you don’t want to do, just because you think it would make me happy or...solve a  _ problem  _ in our relationship, or do anything else,” Combeferre said, his words fast as he spoke his thoughts. “You matter to me, Grantaire! Your feelings, your wants, your--”

“Combeferre, please,” he begged. “I’m sorry but...I’m really just feeling selfish with this. This guy you’re talking about, someone who would put your deepest desires above him sounds like a fucking great guy, but I am honestly looking out for me right now, and it just...may happen to coincide with you.”

Combeferre’s eyes softened as he relaxed his shoulders, his worry replaced by careful curiosity. “So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying I think I kind of really like Enjolras,” Grantaire admitted, feeling a jolt through his stomach.  _ Fuck.  _ It felt good to say. “I-I-I look forward to seeing him. I love when we have our weird not-dates. I fucking wish they were real dates. Yeah, you know what? I do.” He was gaining confidence, nodding as he said it, feeling the truth weigh down everything he said. “He’s absolutely stunning. I’m fucking mesmerized every time he opens his mouth. I love that we bicker, because he picks up on problematic shit I say that I never even realized I was saying! He--”

Grantaire was stopped by Combeferre’s hands on his waist, his naked chest against his clothed one, his breath against his face as he spoke quietly. “You’re being honest with me?”

Grantaire nodded,  _ “ _ I don’t know if it could work. I don’t even know where we would start. I just know that I’ve been wanting to get back in that dream all fucking day and--” he was cut off by Ferre’s lips against him, and Grantaire found himself tipped back onto their bed. 

Grantaire kept talking. “I don’t know if I’ll be any good at it, but he’s so fucking beautiful, Ferre, and I think the more I get to know him, the more I’ll like him, because that’s what it’s been and--” he helped Ferre take off his own shirt, working on his pants next as Combeferre bent over him, kissing his chest. “I just think we could work, maybe, and...do you?”

“Yes,” Ferre said, looking up. Grantaire wound a hand to touch the nape of his neck. “Yes, I do.”

Grantaire smiled softly before pulling him in, kissing him deeply. Then he pulled away, “How long have you been hoping for this?”

Combeferre winced, “Was I not clear about my own desires not really mattering here? You know I feel, and--can’t we just...have sex?” As if to make his point, he tried taking off his pants in an attempt to distract Grantaire. A good move, to be sure, but one that did not work.

“Now that you’re explicitly avoiding it, no,” Grantaire replied, grinning wickedly. He scooted back on the bed, still in his jeans as Ferre stood completely nude and looking like he could strangle Grantaire for what he was doing.  “How long?”

“I--I don’t know,” Combeferre huffed, sitting on the bed. “I mean--the two men that I have had very serious feelings for in my life? Getting along? Anyone would logically...well, perhaps illogically, but...”

“Yeah? Got some good fantasies to share with the class?” Grantaire asked, “You’ve always had a great imagination, I can only think--”

“Grantaire, I swear,” Ferre groaned, causing Grantaire to laugh loudly. He promptly quieted, much to Combeferre’s inner victory, when R saw that Ferre had pressed the heel of his hand against himself, somewhere between control and relief. “If I said that I had thoughts of you and Enjolras, would you just...”

“Yeah,” Grantaire said, barely a breath from the way he was mesmerized by Ferre’s hand. He pulled off his jeans as Combeferre fixed him with an expression knowing no bounds to its annoyance.

“Then yes, I have thought about it,” he replied, allowing Grantaire to get closer on the bed. “Now, come on.”

Later, when they lay quietly, fighting the necessary step to shower in favor of lazily relaxing one another, Combeferre pushed back Grantaire’s hair to see his eyes clearly. “You’re not going to mess anything up, you know.”He had to laugh, the thought being one that had been certain to him since he woke that morning. “You aren’t,” he repeated, making eye contact. “Just keep doing what you have been, R. That’s all.”“That’s all,” Grantaire echoed, obviously unpersuaded.“I mean it,” Combeferre whispered, tilting their faces closer to kiss him softly. “Day by day.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've made it about halfway now! Yay! And finally--some ECR. That was the point of this fic, wasn't it? I suppose it was.
> 
> This is definitely not the end of the negotiations between Grantaire and Combeferre! Since I've been answering a few comments (whether here or between private messages) with a lot of "that's in an upcoming chapter!" I figured I'd put a disclaimer here. This is not a decision to make over one conversation, and it won't be just one conversation :)
> 
> Grantaire's short rant on Genesis comes mostly from personal research, and though his language takes things a little too far, I chose the most interesting interpretation put forth (personally interesting, anyway). Besides, like Grantaire, I also take any chance to use the term "nonbinary lizard people" as much as possible. As someone with a heavy background in religious studies, I don't mean to offend anyone, and I find I would disagree even with what I wrote a character saying. If you're interested in the particular book(s) that he was citing, feel free to drop me a line!
> 
> Three cheers for weird dream sequences. I promise this is only one. I just needed some way to stir up some type of response from Grantaire, since he kind of just...goes with things. Besides, we were halfway through without some type of polyamorous plot going on here. Had to move forward. 
> 
> Do these notes seem like downers? They seem like downers to me. Oh, well! The next chapter is my favorite that I've written. I hope to have time to put it up in a few days, but since I'm moving back to school, I may need some time! 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Grantaire and Combeferre are evermore honest with each other, and Enjolras draws evermore closer to both of them. There are also aliens of the ancient variety.

The next morning, Combeferre surprised him by waking him up, something he rarely did, respecting that very few people were as agreeable to morning as he was. Still, that particular morning he shook and kissed Grantaire awake.

“What is this?” Grantaire grumbled, waking slowly.

“I wanted to talk to you first thing. Not  _ right  _ now, but I made some breakfast, so…”

“Yeah,” he answered, rubbing his eyes. “Yeah, give me a few minutes to shower.” He also wanted a few minutes more to sleep, but Combeferre was next to him on the bed expectantly, so he had very little choice. He stumbled to the shower, going through what they had talked about, how they had-- _ shit _ , were they really pursuing a polyamorous relationship? Was that was Ferre wanted to talk about? Was he regretting everything?

He tried not to worry, but with nothing to do but think, it was hard not to. He shook off his wet head, toweling his curly hair and throwing on some clean clothes as he went to the kitchen. “Smells so good,” he murmured, looking around.

Combeferre smiled, setting the rest on a plate and moving to hug Grantaire, “Thank you for getting up.”

“Yeah, no problem,” he replied, allowing him to let go and sit down at the table. “What’s up?”

Combeferre paused, stalling as he fixed a plate. “I fear I may have rushed things. I...I’m certain I rushed thing,” he qualified, laughing quietly at himself. “It’s not what I do at all. I like letting things unfold as they may, to let the cards fall, but…” He watched Grantaire make his coffee the way he liked it, watched him pour in the same amount of sugar that he knew Enjolras would like. “I remember telling you when we first started dating that I believe everything happens the way that it should.”

“I remember that, sure.”

“I always stuck to that when I was here, when I didn’t even know you. I let years go by while waiting for Enjolras to return any feelings I had for him, just thinking that I shouldn’t do anything to pursue him. And then I just up and moved across the country, and I found you, and we moved in together so quickly, and--” Combeferre trailed off, taking a deep breath. “I have to admit that you may bring out a part of me that rushes into things.”

Grantaire knit his brow, trying to figure out what Combeferre was trying to say. “Is that a bad thing? I mean, I think we’ve got something really good here, but that’s just me. At the very least, some amazing sex is being had.”

Combeferre had to smile, shaking his head. “No. No, it’s not bad at all. I just need to make sure that we do consider this...situation with Enjolras. One very rushed conversation that ended up in, yes--” he closed his eyes for a moment, “Amazing sex doesn’t really count for negotiations, you know?”

Grantaire hummed. “I guess not. Is there a handbook or some shit?”

“Probably,” Combeferre admitted. “I mean, we could look for more information if we need it, but...that’s not the point.”

He was confused again. “It’s not?”

“No,” Ferre shook his head, “No, I just want to make sure that I know where you are with everything. You know that I’m committed to you, right? I don’t know if I haven’t been clear, or if I’ve--”

“Combeferre,” Grantaire interrupted, tilting his head. “When I knew that you loved Enjolras, my biggest fear was that I couldn’t feel jealous. Even when I brought it up while you were angry with me because I made Enjolras angry at the bar, I wasn’t doing that out of anger or some shit. Honestly, it was a shitty thing to do because I was doing it just to make you stop yelling at me.” He could admit that now. “I’ve been freaking out because I haven’t freaking out. And then I started thinking,  _ okay,  _ maybe I don’t get jealous.  _ Okay _ , is this completely normal for a monogamous relationship?  _ Okay _ , why am I so excited to keep plans with Enjolras?  _ Okay _ , why do I find Enjolras so fucking great?” He paused for a moment, making sure of eye contact with Combeferre across the table. “A much-abridged version of my thinking process, but I--I did not want to wake up from that dream, and it’s still doing weird shit to me, just remembering it.”

Combeferre took a deep breath, “And you...you know we could stop at any point? If ever you’re nervous, or insecure or  _ anything _ , you know you could tell me?”

He nodded, “Yeah. I mean, it’s hard not be insecure when you and he are literally the two most beautiful men I have met in my entire life, not to mention a well-oiled machine together, but--”

“Okay, see, that kind of language makes me nervous,” Combeferre explained, reaching across the table to take one of Grantaire’s hands in his. “I want to be in a relationship with  _ you _ , Grantaire. I  _ love  _ being with you. If we think that our relationship could be made even better with another person, a person that we  _ both  _ like, then that’s great, and it’s so exciting. But I--I really need to make sure you’re okay with this.”

Grantaire was silent, understanding what Combeferre was saying. He knew his bad days, and he knew ways that those bad days were passed better than others, but he didn’t know how they would change if he watched his boyfriend kiss someone else, even if he kissed Grantaire, too. He didn’t know how his feelings would change if he let them deepen for Enjolras. He didn’t know. “I don’t know how this could turn out,” he admitted. “I’m not deluding myself any different, though. You don’t know either,” he pointed out, smiling.

“No,” Combeferre confessed, laughing. “No, I don’t know.”

“What’s the hurt in seeing, right? In being honest with each other? Talking out feelings?” Grantaire prompted, cutting off a piece of pancake. He let out a moan, “I fucking love when you put blueberries in the pancakes.”

At that, Combeferre really laughed, “Are we back to light-hearted breakfast then?”

Grantaire nodded, grinning as he ate. “And before you corner me for another serious discussion, I’m not repressing any shit. I’ll let you know if I am.”

He took a deep breath across from Grantaire, “Okay.” He shook his head, “We’re doing this, then?”

“Slowly charming the pants off of Enjolras?” he checked. “Hell yeah.”

It started casually, and slowly. Grantaire was still meeting him weekly, but it was fun to talk to Combeferre about things that were happening. When Enjolras accepted that Grantaire pay for both of them, on account of his birthday bringing random monetary support from his parents, R could hardly believe it.

“Yeah?” he checked. 

“I said yes,” Enjolras repeated, tilting his head slightly.

“You know you’re, like, the only person I could buy for anyway.”

“Oh?”

“Ferre does that thing--say  _ Oh?  _ like that,” Grantaire digressed. Enjolras always seemed pleased when Combeferre was brought up in conversation. And he was a subject that Grantaire could talk about for days, so he didn’t mind one bit. Then was no exception as Enjolras straightened up even the slightest amount. “Anyway, yeah, because all my money gets combined with Ferre’s anyway, whatever I can contribute, and you’re really the only one of your friends that I go out with.”

“ _ Our  _ friends,” he corrected.

“You know, it’s funny, Ferre does that  _ too _ ,” he commented sarcastically, earning an eyeroll. 

“It’s true, though,” Enjolras insisted. “I know you’re close to Joly and Lesgle. Bahorel likes you a lot. Everyone likes you a lot.”

He had to hand it to him. Enjolras was able to nonchalantly hand him everything he had craved for about two years: friends with whom Grantaire could connect without alcohol, without a harmful style, and without fear of outright rejection. And he still didn’t know the right way to express that. “Well...thank you,” he finally decided on.

“You’re welcome. Anyway--”

“Yeah, yeah, so I usually just hang out at their home or we all go out. Never solo at a place that I need to buy. So thank you for the opportunity,” he finished.

“Are you thanking me for allowing you to use your hard-earned money to buy me coffee?”

“It’s saving  _ your _ hard-earned money.”

“Well, not really,” Enjolras said slowly, pursing his lips together. “I don’t like to talk about it, because it makes people act strangely, but my parents are...they’re well-off.” He seemed to be struggling with this, his eyes downcast at the table in obvious embarrassment. Or perhaps it was humility. 

“How well-off? Like  _ paid off mortgage just in time to refinance for Enjolras to go to college _ or  _ donated a library to the college _ kind?”

He sighed, “This is where it gets weird.”

“Oh, shit, where’s the Enjolras library?” Grantaire grinned.

“There’s no... _ library _ , but they are quite wealthy, and, um--I mean, I like to think I do as best as I can with the privilege I have. Like I pay my rent with the fund I have, but when I work, I work for non-profits, because I can do that with my time, you know? It’s a weird balance I guess, but most of the things I do that keep me busy don’t pay me, and my parents are the reason,” he explained, looking painfully uncomfortable as he crossed and uncrossed his legs.

Grantaire took pity on him. “It’s cool, man. I mean, I’d love to visit the library--”

“There is no library…”

“--I get it, though. You have your things, which obviously are not your parents’ things, but still need that money to do them. No shame in that,” Grantaire said honestly. “Even if does completely go against all that you stand for and I am truly ashamed to call myself an acquaintance of yours.”

“Now you’re just being annoying on purpose,” Enjolras scoffed.

Grantaire was grinning again, “This is just such a scandal, you must forgive me for being appalled. You, applying help from your parents in a way that allows you to do good work for the world around you.  _ My God _ , the audacity.”

He rolled his eyes, though Grantaire thought he saw his lips quirk up in a smile.  _ Beautiful.  _ “What would be the equivalent to this? Teasing you about being a starving artist, the betrayal of all that is beautiful about the capitalist system to follow your  _ dreams _ ?” In sarcasm, he shook his head. “Where do you get off, refusing to be a cog in the machine?”

“You’re complimenting me,” Grantaire remarked.

“Why does it sound like an accusation?” Enjolras leaned back in his chair. “I would hope we’ve moved beyond our first impressions.”

Grantaire stared at him for a moment. It was something to make note of, something he knew he would tell Combeferre later. Could Enjolras tell? Could he tell there had been a shift, that now Grantaire was looking at him as someone other than just  _ Combeferre’s friend that I have to get along with for the sake of our relationship.  _ He was looking at him as a potential addition  _ to  _ their relationship. And he wondered if Enjolras could feel it.

He didn’t know, so he nodded instead. “Yeah. Yeah, I would hope so, too.”

Enjolras shrugged and slung his bookbag over his shoulder. That was always Grantaire’s cue that it was time to go. “Like I said, I’ll buy next time.”

He walked in a different direction than Grantaire was going once they went outside, and the small smile he threw over his shoulder was enough to kill a man.

Combeferre listened to that story with a grin on his face and a warm cup of tea in his hands as they wound down. “We should invite him over more,” he suggested.

“Shit, we should,” Grantaire laid on the pillow next to him. “Like just him, right?”

“Yeah,” Ferre smiled. 

“What about right now?” he asked, turning suddenly.

“What? No, we couldn’t--”

“Why not? He said today that he didn’t have a shift tonight, that he was just going to go home, probably watch some History Channel...what are we doing?” he straightened up. “I mean, yeah, we’re laying in bed, but--”

“We don’t have to be laying in bed,” Ferre said slowly, putting his cup down. “And maybe it’d be better like this. We could get used to, like, not presenting any different.”

“Exactly.”

“Okay,” Combeferre decided, nodding. “Okay, yeah, let me call him.” He queued up Enjolras’ number on his phone, placing it on speaker. Grantaire promised himself that he’d be quiet, but he soon failed when Enjolras picked up on the second ring.

“Ferre, oh my God, I needed to talk to you, too. So I’m watching Ancient Aliens, right? And--”

“Why are you doing that? You hate that show, Enjolras, you say it’s--”

“--racist and ill-informed, yes, because it is. But I’m watching, Ferre, and they’re going on and on about the irrigation systems in ancient Eg--”

“Hey, Enjolras?” he interrupted, wincing. “I actually called with a question.”

“Oh, okay. After, I’ll tell you.”

“Sure, yeah. Grantaire and I wanted to know if you wanted to come over.”

“Tonight? Isn’t it late for you?” And Grantaire tried to stifle his laughter from Ferre being called out on his early bedtime, with little success. He removed himself from the bed.

“I have off tomorrow,” Combeferre explained.

“And Grantaire?”

“He’s always up anyway. I know you already saw him today, but if you can stand--”

“Yes,” came the reply, surprising both of them, clear from their matched expressions.

“Yes?” Ferre checked.

“Right now?”

“Yeah, yeah, um--do you need a ride?”

“No, I got my bicycle tires changed today, so that’s all fixed and good as new!” He sounded so cheerful, the sounds of him getting ready cutting into the phone’s white noise. Grantaire was smiling widely, struck by the happiness just a simple invitation--from both of them--was so clearly making him. “I’ll be over in a bit!”

“Okay,” Combeferre said, laughing in spite of himself. “Okay, yeah, stay safe, Enj.”

“I will. Bye!”

The call ended, leaving Ferre to look up at Grantaire, shaking his head. “He was so ready to come over.”

“I know,” Grantaire said, crossing the room to place a kiss on his forehead. “Now, get up, my dear, we need to look presentable for our gentleman caller.”

“Are you changing?” he asked, incredulous.

R snorted, “No.” He just moved to the main room, lounging on the sofa until Enjolras knocked. “Hey--nice bike.”

“After coffee today, I just... _ did it _ , I needed to get the tires, and I’m already too busy, so--” he leaned the thin blue bicycle against their wall. “Ferre!” he called stepping forward to hug his friend, his arms wrapped around his neck. Grantaire watched as Combeferre’s own arms went around Enjolras, his eyes closing--their hug was just as intimate as the first one he’d seen. 

Before he could lay waste to a slight pity party at not being at a level on which Enjolras would give him a hug as well, Combeferre coughed and stepped away from the hug. “So, I won’t keep you from watching more Ancient Aliens, but--”

Enjolras groaned, already going to their main room, “I have had enough. You would think the History Channel would have more dignity than that.”

“I would disagree,” Grantaire continued as he followed, Ferre joining him.

“Of course you would,” Enjolras replied.

“I have a good reason,” he said, smiling as he did so. “History isn’t really known for its dignity. I mean--it’s a lot of honor and dignity being taken in the name of honor, isn’t it?”

Combeferre tilted his head, having settled in the middle of them, and leaning slightly against Grantaire. “But historians, biased as they are, try to write history as something with a good side, and a bad side. That good side will always have dignity, always have honor, as long as a good historian is on its side.”

Enjolras furrowed his brow, tucking his legs under him. “Then what historians are behind Ancient Aliens?” He even smiled then, “What is the good side of Ancient Aliens? Who has dignity if they’re taking away the legitimate steps in progress that ancient people took?”

“My guess would be the aliens,” Grantaire said, and he was greeted by a double eye roll, making him laugh. “For a show that has  _ aliens  _ in its title, I’m sure that their thesis would be that aliens have won history or something--”

“Have you watched it?” Enjolras asked him, his voice still light. It was refreshing; Grantaire had to wonder if this was the effect Combeferre had on him--that Grantaire could joke and be himself, and Enjolras could understand it better, even tolerate it. Accept it? Perhaps over time. 

“No, I haven’t,” he confessed.

Enjolras clicked his tongue, “As much as this show makes me angry--”

“This show makes you  _ very  _ angry,” Combeferre murmured, making Grantaire laugh again.

“--I would like you to make informed decisions on its merits, so we’re going to watch it,” he declared, commanding control of the remote as he switched it on.

It was, in a word, ridiculous. Though Grantaire tried to keep a pretense of disinterest, or genuine respect for the theories put forth, if only to annoy Enjolras, he found himself tilting his head like a confused dog.  _ Since the systems put in place are so advanced for such a primitive people, many scholars have explained that they had extraterrestrial help,  _ said the narrator. “What?” Grantaire whispered to himself.

Enjolras jumped up, pointing, “See! See, this is  _ awful!  _ This has absolutely no reason being on an educational channel, much less one that squeezes it between programs of actual value! Right?”

“I--” Grantaire started, but all he did was lean back, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, shit, they got me speechless.”

Enjolras was smiling smugly, still standing, and Grantaire figured that he would simply eventually sit down on the other side of a dozing Combeferre. But he surprised him by taking a step closer and fitting himself in the middle of them both. 

Grantaire blinked at the television screen, afraid to disturb any peace. He didn’t know what he had done to earn such a reward as this proximity. He didn’t know what he would do to ruin it. So he did nothing.

Slowly, Enjolras turned to him. As Grantaire looked back, he saw that Ferre had woken up, was swallowing--his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he looked from the back of Enjolras’ head to Grantaire. 

“I’m sensory...tactile,” Enjolras said to him, his face serious. Grantaire couldn’t read him. “I--um, Ferre...Ferre knows, right?” He turned to Combeferre, who nodded, an action that was obviously encouraging. “I like this...space.”

By  _ space _ , Grantaire understood that he meant  _ little to no space _ , but he nodded anyway.

“Is this okay?” Enjolras asked. His voice was calm. “I know some people need more space, so I understand.”

Instead of really answering, Grantaire asked another question. “You’ve said this speech before, huh?”

“Well, you kind of figure it out--what to say, you know,” Enjolras replied. “I just--” he turned to Ferre again. “I’ve always sat this way with Ferre. It felt weird being over there. But I get it.” He’d turned back to Grantaire, who smiled.

“It’s all good. Yeah. No use using the whole room when we’re all right here.”

“Okay,” Enjolras murmured, settling in between them.

After Grantaire exchanged a small smile over his head with Ferre, he spoke again. “You and I have a lot in common, Enjolras.” He simply laughed aloud at this prospect, which prompted Ferre to do the same. “Hear me out! Hear me out, Jesus. Okay, first and possibly the biggest thing--giving Ferre personal space is really hard.”

Enjolras and Combeferre both started protesting at the same time, making Grantaire smile fondly as the two of them offered defenses ranging from  _ I’m like that with all my friends _ to the whining  _ now you’re not even trying _ to  _ watch the aliens _ . But the episode ended, and an infomercial came on in the next ten minutes, and there was no excuse to offer an Enjolras who rose to retrieve his bicycle. After all, Combeferre was a pillow away from being pass-out asleep.

He hugged Enjolras before rising to make sure dishes were put away in the kitchen, leaving Grantaire to see Enjolras out.

“Well, Enjolras, it has been a lovely evening,” he began, “To end it, we have a few options. The first is a one-man reenactment of the  _ Sound of Music _ ’s very appropriate number  _ So Long Farewell _ , but I would recommend the second, which is the catalogue of ships from Homer’s  _ Iliad _ , straight from my memory. Now, the third option is--and I’m really counting on you to interrupt me now, because I don’t have a third option in mind, here, honestly.”

Enjolras only smiled, and his shoulders moved in the suggestion of laughter. “I did wonder if you can go on indefinitely. You’ve shown hints of it.”

“Is that a challenge? I can think harder,” he offered.

Enjolras shook his head. “No, no, I should get home.” He paused for a moment, “This was nice.”

“Yeah, it was,” Grantaire agreed, “Two dates in one day.”

“You and the  _ dates _ ,” Enjolras groaned.

“I’ll stop, I’ll stop--”

“No, you won’t, and you know it.”

“No, you’re right, I definitely won’t,” Grantaire grinned, but he soon sighed. “It is rather late, yeah.”

Enjolras tilted his head, “Thank you for having me over.”

“You are  _ so  _ welcome, sir.”

Enjolras was smiling again. He was smiling when he stepped forward, even though he faltered a bit in hesitation, his arms slowly fitting around Grantaire, one around his torso and one over his shoulder. Grantaire couldn’t say he was any less awkward with his hesitation, but they settled into a hug. A definite hug. And they remained that way for a good handful of seconds until Enjolras stepped away.

“Um...tell Ferre I said goodnight,” he said, smiling once more before he walked out.

“Of course,” Grantaire replied, fiddling with the doorknob as he looked back. “Stay safe, yeah?”

Enjolras nodded, wheeling his bicycle down the stairs with a tiny last wave. Grantaire took a deep breath as he shut the door, and he shut off the lights on the way to the bedroom, where Ferre was pathetically asleep. But Grantaire had  _ news _ , so he obnoxiously flopped on the bed, making Ferre flinch with the movement.

“Guess who’s on  _ fucking  _ hug level with Enjolras?” he asked.

“I’m guessing it’s you,” Ferre answered drowsily. 

“You guessed  _ fucking  _ right.”

“Okay,” Ferre patted his head, turning over in bed. “Please be excited tomorrow for me. Just...sleep, please.”

“Night, old man.”

“Goodnight, Grantaire,” he sighed.

R was up for fucking hours.

He hadn’t been ready to say goodnight to him.

He wanted him there, even watching a stupid infomercial.

He wanted him there, close enough to smell and touch and hear his breathing.

He wanted him there, always.

He wanted Enjolras and Combeferre with himself. 

If ever confirmation was needed, he had it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick update to celebrate that I finished the fic today!!!! I can say it'll be twelve chapters :) I'm moving back to school tomorrow, so forgive some delays, but nothing out of the ordinary. It's just a matter of proofreading and tweaking!
> 
> Things about this chapter  
> -I apologize if you're an Ancient Aliens fan, and I am sure it has its good moments--but when watched through an Enjolras lens, it just doesn't pass.  
> -Hands up for a straight up ECR scene! Yay!   
> -Enjolras' personal space habits: very important headcanon to me, personally. My partner and I have talked extensively about this, but touch is super important for my Enjolras. His coming close to Grantaire was more than a plot device to further the romance of this plot, but really was his way of showing that Grantaire was more than just "Combeferre's annoying boyfriend" to him. This Enjolras' touches are very deliberate, even when he's free with affection with his friends.
> 
> That should be it. Thanks for following along!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which pasts resurface, and Enjolras and Grantaire have a very nice "not-date." (Grantaire voice: It's a date.)

“How’s your mom?” Combeferre asked Enjolras, having come around to his place while Grantaire was out discussing some project or another with a commissioner. It had been like this for years, reclining on a couch, pulling a blanket over themselves if they got chilly, being simple.

There had been a time that it pained Combeferre, but now it just made him smile.

Enjolras sighed, “She’s fine. I talked to her yesterday--she’s been asking to see you when she comes to visit, or if I go to visit.”

He knew this likely the case. Enjolras’ mom had, for a long time, been his biggest ally. It was beyond the usual, “Why can’t you be more like Combeferre?” which he had gotten with more than one of his friends’ mothers. No, Enjolras’ mom had been cheering for him, and had somehow known his feelings for her son. At one family event, she had gotten a bit tipsy and told him she hoped Enjolras woke up one day to see what a catch Combeferre was. He never did, but Combeferre never would get to tell her how much that one comment meant to him, for good or bad. It was probably the reason he stuck around a year more, a year more of being helplessly in love. He’d been given hope, however brief, by someone who knew Enjolras possibly better than anyone.

But he knew now that it had to be up to him. It couldn’t be Enjolras just _waking up._ It was up to him, and now Grantaire as well, to uncover what Combeferre had always believed (that he and Enjolras could work well together, romantically) and what he believed now (that he and Grantaire could be good partners for Enjolras together), and to find a way to show that to Enjolras.

“I’d love to see her,” Combeferre replied, his thoughts hidden in his relaxed demeanor.

Enjolras sighed and leaned his head on Combeferre, “I like Grantaire.”

He couldn’t hide his surprise at the sudden change in conversation. “Oh?”

“That was fun the other night,” he continued. “I thought he was just...mean at first, but he’s not.” He lifted his head to look at Combeferre, “I should’ve known you wouldn’t choose someone mean. But I--I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?”

“About how I avoided Grantaire, and then just made these...snap judgments,” Enjolras worked out, his eyes sincere and piercing. “But now that I know him, yeah. I get why you like him so much.”

 _Would you like him, too?_ “I’m happy,” Combeferre said honestly. “I mean, I think I needed to get used to him, too, when I met him. You weren’t there for us telling everyone over Skype how we met, right?” Enjolras shook his head, tucking his legs under him, so Combeferre continued, “He was working at a bookstore, and I’d always be there working, right?”

“Oh, God,” Enjolras murmured, smiling. “I can already imagine. How’d you get work done?”

“That’s right, you’ve been privy to the rants about anything he can think of,” he laughed, “Yeah, he’d come over when I was working on whatever, and just...grasp for anything in conversation. It was pretty annoying on more stressful days, but I realized eventually that I wasn’t exactly looking for another place to go, so he grew on me, to say the least.”

“That’s so nice,” Enjolras said, sounding genuine. He smiled kindly, “I’m happy you’re back.” He’d said that, and variations of such, about twice each time they had seen each other since he came back. Those words, coupled with his smiles--Combeferre never stood a chance to resist him once he returned.

He knew his expression was probably too serious, that if he were with Grantaire, saying these things--they would kiss immediately after saying them. But Enjolras was always different, always a surprise. “I’m so happy I’m back, too, Enj.”

It was not a kiss, but Enjolras leaned forward to wrap his arms around Combeferre. He closed his eyes to breathe him in. When he’d started transitioning, he was known for wearing too much Axe, or too much Old Spice later, or too much any cologne. But now, he’d gotten the hang of it. Now, his warm smell hung on him perfectly, causing Combeferre to fill his lungs completely. Different as he was from Grantaire’s heavier smell, Enjolras was just as intoxicating. He always had been.

They remained there, Combeferre the one to pull away when he realized that he probably should. Enjolras laughed quietly, seemingly sheepish for a moment.

“What is it?” Combeferre asked, the sound filling him with warmth.

He shook his head, “It’s nothing. Um...no, it’s nothing, I’m just--it’s nice, having time with just you again. That’s all.”

Combeferre wondered if he should worry about that. He wondered if it meant that, though Enjolras had admitted that he liked Grantaire just _minutes_ ago, he liked them separate. He wondered if this would all prove to fall apart even before they truly _began_ , if his talks with Grantaire about pursuing Enjolras were really all for naught. _God_ , Combeferre was not one to panic. He really was not. But this was already turning into something that stressed him to no end.

But he should have known better. He should have known better than to think Enjolras would do the thing that would help his feelings to recede, given his focus on a relationship between all three of them together. No, Enjolras had always been in the business of making sure his feelings were secure and amplified.

Enjolras looked to the ceiling, “But if you ever watch Ancient Aliens or something again, and you think I’m up--can you invite me?”

Combeferre blinked, before nodding quickly. “I--yeah. Yeah, I’d love that.”

“Me too.”

When Combeferre went back to the lab, he took the long way, taking the time to consider the rocks on the way, the worms poking out of the flowerbeds, the clouds in the sky. A bleak nimbostratus proclaimed the rainy weather as of late, as did the worms from the damp soil. But that was all he knew of rainy weather.

He only knew of Grantaire’s smiles, and of Enjolras’ warmth. He only knew of these men, the only men he had ever loved. He only knew of the happiness he felt with both of them, the happiness that Grantaire said he wanted to combine. The happiness that Combeferre had never hoped to.

He couldn’t help but smile on his way, reaching down to pocket the smoother looking of the many stones he passed. He knew he could not rush it, but hadn’t that always been something he excelled in? Hadn’t he always let things fall as they were meant to happen, to let feelings feel their way out? He didn’t mind the wait. He felt renewed, no longer the sad, pining best friend who ran away when he was devoid of any other hope for a life. He felt excited to hear about how Grantaire was progressing. He felt strong, ready for a marathon if that was what this race required of him.

Grantaire, far from needing any renewing strength, was learning more and more--learning things that Combeferre already knew, but also that which charmed Grantaire all the more.

“So, do you have any embarrassing Combeferre stories?” he asked on a Saturday afternoon, watching Enjolras across their tiny table.

The blond considered for a moment, “Why are you asking?”

“Can’t I be curious?”

“Are you going to use these stories against him?”

Grantaire clicked his tongue, “You’ve gotten to know me too well.” Enjolras lifted his eyes to the ceiling, a patient smirk upon his lips. “But please, I have been craving the stories he won’t tell himself.”

Enjolras considered for a moment, studying Grantaire, before he set his mug down. “This isn’t an embarrassing story, but it’s a very good one.” he promised.

“I’m excited already.”

“Before I begin, will you be interrupting after each line? I simply want to know,” and as if to more sarcastically prove his point, he examined his nail beds. Grantaire laughed once before miming a lock and key over his lips. He took a deep breath, “When we were in--oh no.” His eyes were behind Grantaire, looking at the counter, so naturally caused Grantaire to turn around and look as well. Enjolras tugged his sleeve, “Don’t look, just go.”

When Grantaire hesitated, Enjolras got up and pulled him with him, quickly through the people and out the door. “Who did you--” Grantaire began, but Enjolras was still walking at a pace that only very leggy people could keep up with. “Enjolras! Enjolras, slow down. Jesus, I’m a smoker and more out of shape than anyone I know, take pity on me.” And he did, finally, once they rounded a corner. Grantaire gathered his breath, “You want to tell me what just happened?”

Enjolras sighed, “Montparnasse.”

“Okay, well, that isn’t an explanation at all.”

“Montparnasse--I am rather certain at this point that Montparnasse will be a presence in my life until the day I die, and I do not use hyperbole lightly, Grantaire,” the way he was speaking made him want to both laugh at the absurdity of what he was saying and seek the person out that they were discussing. “I met him freshman year, and he was just--” Enjolras huffed, shaking his head. “You want a story about Combeferre? I’ll give you a story about Combeferre. _So_ , Montparnasse took an...interest in myself fairly immediately when we met in college, and he has been _nothing_ but an absolute nuisance ever since.”

“Did you ever…”

“Date?” Enjolras asked incredulously, and just when Grantaire thought this meant they did not, Enjolras surprised him. “Yes.”

“No,” Grantaire dared.

“I regret it just the same,” Enjolras sighed. “But...yes, he was nice and a good listener when he wants to be, and we dated for three weeks. Well, _if_ you can call it dating. It was mostly fighting.”

“About?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes, “He refused the term boyfriend. So I brought up girlfriend, in case that would be acceptable, since pronouns were easily switched then. No again. I tried everything--I tried buhgirlfriend and guhboyfriend and--stop laughing, they’re real words,” he commanded Grantaire, who truly couldn’t help it. When Enjolras clearly was serious, Grantaire nodded and forced himself to stop laughing. “I tried _datemate_ and _person I am seeing_ and _partner_ and literally anything else I could think of, and you know what he said?”

“What?”

“He refused to call me _anything_ but his _lover_ ,” Enjolras said emphatically, “Even saying out loud makes me so _angry_. We’re both ace! We weren’t doing anything! And yet, he insisted on using _lover_.”

Grantaire couldn’t help it, “You’re ace?”

Enjolras shrugged, “Sex-neutral, I think. I thought it would nice, being with someone else who didn’t expect anything or whatever, but it was honestly a mistake. I couldn’t stand being with someone who so aggressively hated commitment, so I tried to break up with him, but he always walked away.”

Grantaire grinned, “So you wouldn’t be able to break up with him?”

“Exactly,” Enjolras replied. Grantaire was surprised at how easily this came about for Enjolras, given his tendency to focus on the cause or others. He was happy to enjoy this story, however, happy to bask in this past of Enjolras. “So this goes on for months, that he just pops up to harass me in random places. It gets so bad and so annoying that I just...get in the habit of being with someone at all times. I was never afraid of him. He was never a real threat, but he always goes away more easily when I’m with someone else. So one day, I’m in the library with Ferre and Montparnasse walks up to me while Ferre has stepped away.”

Grantaire lined this time up. Years ago, Combeferre being in a library with Enjolras. He knew, from their relationship, that Combeferre liked to be alone when he studied. In fact, he _needed_ to be able to get any real work done. But he could fill in the gaps, and make some solid guesswork here: Combeferre had been too weak to say no to the guy he was in love with. He smiled to himself as Enjolras continued, somehow none-the-wiser.

“Some...time ensues, and though I know now that I should have just walked away, should have just put an end to it before it got to this point--” Enjolras hesitates, “Montparnasse kisses me without my consent and I...punched him. In the nose.”

Grantaire’s mouth fell open, “Holy shit.”

“I’m not extraordinarily proud, but--”

“In the middle of the library? You just...punched this guy?”

Enjolras turned his face, studying him for a moment. “Yeah.”

“Holy shit, that’s amazing. And Ferre--?”

“Ferre was so mad,” Enjolras groaned, his face in his hands. Grantaire laughed, and Enjolras soon was as well. “I got so angry, so I was going to do more damage, but he pulled me away.”

“Ah, a fun-sponge.”

“No, no,” Enjolras said, laughing slightly, “It was for the best, but--” he shook his head. “No, he really wasn’t a fun-sponge.” It was like Grantaire’s words, as harmless as they were, shattered their solidarity. “A few days after that, Parnasse had his nose ruined again. He tried to say it was Combeferre, probably blaming his obvious anger, but I could never believe him. Ferre--well, I’m talking way too much about myself.”

“No, you really aren’t,” Grantaire argued. “Please, go on.”

Enjolras looked up, squinting as he looked at the sun. “He’s the one person who can really calm me down, you know? Like everyone else is great, they really are, but Ferre...there’s something else. I could never accept that he’d wind someone up, or be wound up enough to do what I did, or what anyone did.””

Grantaire hummed, “Yeah. Yeah, I understand that.”

“You do?”

He nodded, “He didn’t let me worry about losing my home. Like, that’s fucking huge, and I look back and I know I should have been absolutely freaking out over it, but I just didn’t. He has that aura.”

Enjolras nodded, “Yeah, exactly.” They were quiet for a moment, and then he coughed, “Well, I should probably go, but--thank you for ducking away from Parnasse.”

“Oh, my pleasure. Will I get to meet him someday?”

“For your sake, I hope not, but there is a very good chance you will,” he told Grantaire, too seriously for him not to laugh. He graced him with a small smile, “Give my best to Ferre.”

“I will. Hey—“ Grantaire winced, his impulse getting the best of him, and not being to go back, since he started. “If you’re not tired of me, I’d hate to let Parnasse get in the way of our lovely Saturday evening.”

Enjolras tilted his head, “It’s already—it’s already six. I wouldn’t want Combeferre to worry or anything.”

“He won’t get jealous,” Grantaire said, and though Enjolras obviously took it for a joke, given his laughter, Grantaire laughed for how true it was. “I’m still new around here—“

“You’ve been here for months.”

“Yes, well, connect me further to this godforsaken college town,” he proposed, holding his arms out. “Show me your places, Enjolras.”

“If I said the same thing, you’d gladly make that an innuendo, and I disdain that I’m even _thinking_ this way now,” Enjolras answered, shaking his head as they walked.

“You know, I call Ferre _lover_ sometimes,” Grantaire reflected, smiling as he did so. “He gets very annoyed.”

“He shouldn’t have shown that weakness around you.”

“Exactly.”

And they walked. They kept walking. They found a place in the park to sit, to talk until the sunset brought about the closing. Grantaire tried his hardest to stifle his laughter when Enjolras couldn’t help but feed the birds with plain oats that he pulled out of his backpack. Soon accosted with doves, as Enjolras told him patiently that doves loved oats, Grantaire couldn’t help but take a picture.

“You’re like a woodland prince,” Grantaire laughed, watching Enjolras’ face turn into distress as the doves got closer, looking for more and more oats. “If I were a bird, I surely would flock to you as well.” He hadn’t meant to make the pun, and so smiled as he actually tried. “You really oat to stop carrying those things around. They’re really, oh, shit—“ one of the birds had flapped too close to Grantaire, causing him to jump. He pointed at the dove, “I call fowl play, sir!”

“Three? Three puns? That’s just gratuitous,” Enjolras teased, and then he dumped the rest of the oats on the ground. He tried talking to the birds, “That’s it. That’s all I have.”

“They’re not very good listeners.”

“No,” Enjolras sighed, slinging his backpack on his back once more, “No, they are not.”

They eventually continued on without traces of the doves, walking into shops that looked interesting and then outside again. They picked up hot chocolate eventually and sat outside, watching the night grow later.

It lent itself to intimacy that Grantaire had not expected to share.

“Can I ask you something?”

“What are you asking?” Enjolras asked in return. They were sitting close, still outside, the hours having passed in random conversation. Grantaire had told Ferre not to wait up, that he was seeing where this was going.

“Was there a reason you were never around for Skype calls, when Ferre and I lived away?”

Enjolras thought for a moment, taking a deep breath. “You know how I’ve said during dinners or whatever with everyone that you can’t judge anyone? That anyone you meet could be your sister, or brother, or mother, or—whatever? And even though we should just treat people well anyway, sometimes it helps to think of people as those close relatives so we can do that.”

“Okay.”

He looked at Grantaire, only to look away. “Ferre taught that to me. And I’m really still learning it. And…truthfully, I didn’t trust you.”

“So you didn’t want to talk to me?”

“Grantaire, I don’t want to talk about this if it’s going to hurt you,” Enjolras said quietly, and with one look in his eyes, Grantaire knew it was true. He didn’t want to say anything to hurt him. He didn’t want to mess up their night, because it had been…a perfect night.

So he shrugged. “I trust you, and I asked. Look, if I had a best friend like Ferre, and suddenly he moved across the country and then was living with a homeless artist dude within a couple months of knowing him—yeah, shit, I don’t know if I’d want to encourage that either.”

“But—“ Enjolras grimaced, “I regret that. Because, yes, that’s exactly where my thoughts were, but I’ve really learned that it’s not the best way to go about things. I mean, I wonder if I was the one who set up the bad first meetings between us.”

“I am more than ready to take full responsibility for them. I know I pushed, okay?”

“Yeah, you did,” Enjolras admitted, and he laughed, looking down. “But I was also quite ready to pick up on any little thing that made you less than perfect for Ferre.”

“See, if you told me that’s what you were doing, I could have helped you. We could have bonded over my many flaws.”

Enjolras didn’t seem to enjoy his sarcasm. “But that’s why I’m here now—you’re really good for Ferre.”

“He’s good for me,” Grantaire said, nodding. He wanted to tell him right then. How hard would it be? To just turn, tell him that both he and Combeferre thought Enjolras was good for _them._ To let him know that they both craved his company at home. To tell him that he was beautiful, and kind, and smart, and everything both he and Ferre wanted in a partner.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he watched Enjolras smile, “I know he is. And that’s why I’m…really happy to know you, and know both of you now. I’m happy you’re here.”

Grantaire couldn’t speak for a moment, his smile soft and the hot chocolate warm in his hands. Across the street from Enjolras’ apartment building, the streetlights shown down on them as the moments ticked by. It was quiet, since everyone else was inside, in their homes or their usual bars or some other place. It was just them.

_Who would know if I kissed you? Who would care?_

The thoughts surprised him with their ferocity, and his eyes flicked to Enjolras’ lips quickly before looking back on his face. His expression was innocent, pure—his eyes wide, and Grantaire _swore_ he saw a tongue dart out to whet his lips. There was no one who would be affected, would there? Combeferre wanted this as badly as Grantaire did, and—Enjolras? Did Enjolras want this?

“I—,” Enjolras started, hesitant. He tucked a curl behind his ear. “I should…we should go home.” He coughed, looking down and laughing at himself. “It is…it is much too late now.”

Grantaire took a deep breath, nodding in agreement. He plastered on a smile. “Yeah. Yeah, we should. Um—“

“Don’t wake Combeferre,” Enjolras warned, jokingly.

“Ah, that old man. I won’t, yeah.”

He smiled as they walked across the street, Grantaire walking him to the front door. “Thank you for today.”

“My pleasure, Enjolras,” Grantaire replied, nodding. “Have a good night.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you too,” and then he was alone to walk home to Ferre.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you would like to read what happened between Montparnasse and Enjolras in the library, my partner wrote it a while ago! With their permission,[I'm linking it here on Tumblr.](http://lesbiamy.tumblr.com/private/127629950096/tumblr_ntotqcJMXh1rahzst). It’s optional, (and because they wrote it, it’s really well-done. Amazing.) 
> 
> I don't have much else to say here. Four more chapters to go, and I believe I'm publishing the next two together. Hope everyone's all good, and thank you for reading! Still on Tumblr for any private comments/suggestions/criticism if you have it! I'm happy to talk :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Grantaire and Combeferre dream, of past and of future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for sexual content in this chapter.

At seven in the morning, on Sunday, he realized that Combeferre hadn’t shut off his normal alarm when he went to sleep before he got home. Grantaire groaned, throwing an arm across Ferre’s body to end it, and then being too lazy to draw back. So he curled up against him, feeling his boyfriend stir in the process.

Combeferre hummed, “How was your night?” he asked, and Grantaire didn’t know if he would ever be used to the way his low tones cracked in the morning. It was delicious, and he held him tighter, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

“It was really great,” he said honestly, smiling against his darker skin. “Still a slow process, but--yeah it was great.”

“Good,” he sighed, shifting against Grantaire when he felt more and more kisses across his back. “Don’t you want to go back to sleep?”

“I didn’t get to see you last night,” he argued, drawing his hand up and tracing random patterns across his chest and abdomen. “And you feel so good against me.” Careful not to kiss the place on his neck where he was sensitive, he kissed down his back, or as far as he could reach without hurting his own neck. Combeferre stretched against him, and Grantaire’s own breath hitched, “You really feel good, God, just stay here with me.” His fingers threaded under the waistband of his briefs, Combeferre’s hips moving restlessly to rid himself of them. Grantaire laughed into his shoulder, “ _You_ didn’t want to go back to sleep, did you?”

“Not now,” Ferre sighed, and the way his ass was moving against Grantaire made him throw out any other intentions he had of teasing him. He pulled down his briefs, letting Ferre kick them off the rest of the way, and then Grantaire pulled him flush against his body again.

“I missed you last night,” Grantaire whispered, moving in sync with Ferre’s growing and restless pace. “We talked about you a lot, too, how great you are, how good you are to us and to other people--”

“You talked about me?” he asked, and then gasped as Grantaire moved his hand lower, fingertips at his base.

“I did,” he replied, “Enjolras and I walked along and spoke about how lovely you are, and _God_ \--I wish he knew how lovely you are now.” His fingers went further until they were running softly along his shaft. “Arched against me, wanting this so badly--”

“Grantaire,” he whispered, his voice dark with how he was only barely being touched.

“Combeferre,” he said back, smiling, “Combeferre, did you think about us while we were talking about you?” He nodded against him, struggling with how R was still just barely giving him any relief. “Yeah? Yeah, you did? I hate to disappoint you, since all we did was talk, but I bet you weren’t thinking of that.” Taking pity on him, Grantaire wrapped his fingers around him tight, stroking him through a fist only once before he went back to his soft touches.

“Did you think about me kissing him? I thought about kissing him,” Grantaire admitted, and he was pleased to feel Ferre twitch in his hand from the idea. “I want to kiss him, and then kiss you, and I want you to taste him on my lips, Ferre,” he whispered, his more urgent tone matched by firmer strokes. “I want you to be there, watching us, and I want you to be there, just like _this--”_ Combeferre let out three quiet moans in quick succession as Grantaire finally gripped him. “Do you think about him watching us? Listening to your gasps here, and watching you get more needy for me?” His own breath came more ragged as he imagined what he was describing _himself,_ and Ferre was quickly becoming a mess of noises and boneless movement himself.

Grantaire stroked him faster, with more determination in his deep voice, “God, and after you’re finished and you’re catching your breath, you’d watch Enjolras and me. And he’d be so _wet_ , Ferre, just waiting there. What if I didn’t let you finish? What if I left you and started on him? I’d have you watching both of us, watching as he moaned-- _God,_ I hope he’s loud. I’d start on him, and--”

“ _Grantaire_ ,” he moaned, arching back into him, and R took the hint that he was close and kept going. He was hard against Ferre’s back, and he took the liberty of rutting against him, aching for any friction at all. His focus was still Ferre, though, and he kept his grip tight.

“He’d make sure you were paying attention, that it wasn’t just me. He wants to see you, Ferre, I can tell. Would you talk him through it? Would you tell him to come, like you tell me? Would you tell me to make him come? He’d look right at you when he can’t even _speak_ , when he can’t help it anymore and he just _comes_ , that beautiful face--”

“R--R, I’m coming, I--”

Grantaire stroked him through it as he moaned, sagging against him and chest heaving. He stayed there for a while, Grantaire still kissing on his shoulder, before he rolled over, kissing him. “God, Grantaire, I--” he shook his head. Grantaire wondered if he felt guilty, if that was something he wasn’t supposed to talk about yet, if he had crossed a line.

But he didn’t want to. So he just asked. “Was it good?”

Combeferre actually laughed, his hands on his Grantaire’s face, “It was spectacular.” He turned and wiped himself off with the sheet, “We can...wash them today. We’re out of tissues, um--yeah, yeah it was really good.” After another moment, Ferre laughing in spite of himself and Grantaire allowing himself to smile, he just shook his head, “God, come here,” he requested, drawing him close and sinking kisses down his body.

Grantaire smiled in peace, even smiled when Ferre’s lips wrapped around his cock, knowing that he was already too keyed up to be much of a performance. He laid his head back, his hand lazily touching Ferre’s head as he helped him along, and he thought about what he had just said. He thought about Enjolras’ long fingers through his hair as Combeferre took him apart with his mouth, and his smile diminished in how much that image took over him. “Ferre, I--” he nodded, his eyes clenched, and Ferre only took him deeper, hands at his waist keeping him still. He came with a tightened grasp on Ferre’s head and gasping for air before he lolled his head to the side, smiling within seconds as Ferre joined him on his pillow.

“We’re so fucked,” Grantaire murmured, and Ferre laughed, nodding. “God, I want him with us so bad, Ferre.”

“I know,” he admitted, groaning. He lay facedown in the pillow, and R laughed. “Should I feel bad about this?”

“Oh, we should probably feel really bad about this,” Grantaire said sarcastically, nodding. “No, Ferre. We’re not doing anything wrong.”

“It’s just that we’re sexualizing him, like, a lot, and he doesn’t know and--”

“Ferre,” he groaned, pushing on him until he looked at Grantaire. “Ferre, okay, I understand what you’re saying. But--we are working on it. And, if this morning shows anything, it shows that we are kind of very committed to having Enjolras in this relationship, so...I don’t know. It’s not like he knows.”

“That’s the problem. If he knew, he’d--” Combeferre shook his head.

Grantaire sighed, thinking it over for a while as he looked at his boyfriend. “Okay, um...how about we just don’t...say those things out loud? Would that help the guilt?”

“Maybe,” Ferre conceded.

“Okay. I won’t include Enjolras in dirty talk, then. Your wish, my command,” he decided, kissing his forehead. “Even if you came _so hard_ \--”

Combeferre groaned again and smothered his laughing face with a pillow, “This should exhaust you.”

“Why? That was amazing. I’m energized. I’m--”

“It means we _really_ have to step up our game if this is going to take less than a lifetime to work out.”

“Oh,” Grantaire removed the pillow from his face. He turned on his side to see Combeferre fixing him with a serious expression. He considered what he was saying, “It really doesn’t exhaust me, though. I mean--I want this.”

“I do, too,” Combeferre said, smiling.

“Okay.” They lay there for approximately ten seconds before Grantaire spoke again, “You know I love you, but you’re all over the sheets, and my mother didn’t raise me to be the kind of person who slept in these conditions, so--”

He could admit he deserved the pillow.

When he wrestled it away, he watched Ferre rising from the bed. “So--I heard about Montparnasse last night,” he started.

Combeferre groaned, “Bane of my existence, truly.”

“Bane of Enjolras’--”

“Well, yes, that’s true. Yes. However, Enjolras did not have Montparnasse threaten to tell his best friend how he felt about him, as Montparnasse did to me,” he explained. “Enjolras still gets the worst of him. I would never take that away, but I lost count of how many times he threatened to tell Enj I had feelings for him.”

“He knew?”

“I thought everyone did,” he laughed to himself. “I’m really not sure how many people do. But yeah--the snake just knew, and he took such great joy in dangling that over my head. And then Feuilly--that was the only fight he and Enjolras had. Feuilly tried to persuade him not to mess around with Parnasse, but Parnasse can be charming and Enjolras can be stubborn--”

“Shocker there.”

Ferre snorted as he stripped the bed, with Grantaire’s help. “Enjolras said he didn’t like being treated like a child who couldn’t make decisions for himself, so he and Feuilly didn’t speak for a couple days over it. I’m not even sure what was said between them. It’s a...dark period, in Enjolras’ mind. Anyway, after that, I kept my mouth shut, because I didn’t want to become the second person who got the silent treatment because of Montparnasse.”

“Shit,” Grantaire breathed, laughing. “He fucked everything up for a while.”

“If we hadn’t all agreed to keep him away, he would keep trying. Honestly, when he gets bored, he still tries. But--yeah, Parnasse did some damage to the group,” he continued.

Grantaire was quiet for a moment, “Was it hard?”

“When he randomly started dating this punk?” Ferre checked, then nodded. “Absolutely. I was in love with the guy.” He fell quiet. “And it wasn’t healthy like I’m finding it now. I got so scared at one point, so jealous, that when Parnasse started gloating one night about how nice Enjolras’ hands were, how good he felt-- _even_ though I knew he was just doing it to make me upset, I got so close to him. There was a moment in my head that I actually considered physically attacking him. You know I don’t do that stuff, but I just--it wasn’t good.”

“Jesus,” Grantaire murmured. “Enjolras said he punched him, too. So you--you, the ultimate pacifist, and _Enjolras_ , the runner-up...you have both attacked him?” Combeferre shrugged, and Grantaire whistled into the quiet apartment. “I bet you looked hot as fuck. What are all those push-ups for anyway if you’re not fighting anyone?”

Combeferre rolled his eyes, smiling, “You’re ridiculous. But in Enjolras’ defense, he was assaulted, and in my defense--I don’t really have one. I was really in over my head for him, had this tunnel vision of anger towards someone who took pleasure in seeing me mope over Enjolras for so long.” He looked away for a moment, “It was a really long time.”

Grantaire crossed the room, hands on his boyfriend’s shoulders before he leaned up for a kiss. He looked seriously into his face, “It won’t always be a secret. We’re going to figure this out with Enjolras.”

Combeferre let his head fall into Grantaire’s shoulder, “I don’t want this to fail, Grantaire.”

“I know.”

“Do you think we’ve waited too long?”

“We haven’t been ready.”

Combeferre lifted his head, fingers traveling across Grantaire’s face. “We have to be now. Are you--?”

Grantaire nodded, then lifted his chin. “You?”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “I just want this to work.”

“We’ll work on how to say it, okay?” Grantaire offered. And even though Combeferre knew he was often the one to calm Grantaire down, to calm anyone down, he also knew that Grantaire produced a singular calming effect on him that no one else had ever produced.

“Thank you,” he said, pulling him close. He could only hope, and trust Grantaire’s peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided to post the rest all at once--I did this for a few reasons. One is that when I read each chapter on its own, I was left with questions that were easily answered in the next chapter. The second is that I wanted to say that I wrote a completed fic and published it in a summer. Given that my summer ends tomorrow, as school really begins, there was little choice.
> 
> I do hope you enjoy the rest!!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Combeferre breaks his own promise of patience.

Enjolras was laughing, filling up Combeferre’s vision only with his angular face, his bouncing curls, his white teeth. It wasn’t even a very funny story that he was telling, but the way that he was reacting to it made Combeferre laugh with him, finding himself hoping that he wouldn’t be able to catch his breath, that his story would go on forever. If only he could see him like this--hold on to the hope that perhaps soon this would be his life, sitting and laughing with Enjolras, as well as Grantaire. Sitting and laughing together--it was closer than ever. He could feel it.

He wanted ever more. It was so far from his years of pining, because he only wanted more every day. He was not content in hints of more, in slowly building. He just needed him close, and he knew Grantaire was the same way.

“When did we do this last?” he asked, having spent an afternoon with Enjolras only.

“Spend more than a lunch break just with each other? Before you left,” Enjolras answered immediately. “Yeah, we went to that history museum—“

“Are you still banned?”

“Still in place,” he huffed, “They were so wrong. I mean, you were there. You saw the way they had dichotomized the town’s “settlers” and the town’s “natives” into an us and them discourse—“ Ferre was nodding. It had been awful. Whether it was awful enough to loudly call attention to it and demand to see anyone in charge, anyone at all, in order to discuss right at that second why it was wrong…he was not sure. But Enjolras had been certain he needed to. “But, yeah, I think that was the last time.”

And how it had all changed. True, Combeferre was still in love with Enjolras, as he had been then. But now, he had Grantaire to go home to later. He had Grantaire to talk to about Enjolras, how wonderful he was, how beautiful he was, how they hoped he could join them. It was very different, though the love had remained.

Then, suddenly, Enjolras was jumping up. “You have to see what my mom sent,” he said, laughing to himself already. He rifled through some papers before he held up some which looked like elementary school worksheets, some construction paper thrown in.

“Do you remember when I was the student of the week, in first grade?” Enjolras began, smile pulling at his lip.

“Somewhat…why?”

Enjolras cleared his throat and read out the first worksheet, something he had written. “My name is…well, it was my birth name, so—anyway, my favorite color is red, my favorite food is naan bread—spelled like _n-o-n_ , very nice. There’s your influence.”

“Oh my God, my mom would always hide the naan from you,” Combeferre remembers, laughing.

“Then you learned to make it yourself, yeah,” he answered, before continuing. “Here’s the best part, though—when I grow up, I want to be married to Ferre.”

Combeferre hadn’t remembered that, and he was silent for a moment. “Did you spell that right?”

Enjolras shoved him lightly, “Of course I did. I wanted to marry you, didn’t I?” And to prove his point, he gave Ferre the paper that held his future aspirations at six years old.

He smiled, looking at it. There was even a picture drawn in at the top, where there were circles in red, and rectangles that were supposed to be naan, and then two small stick figures holding hands. “Our wedding photo,” he said with a smile.

Enjolras made a face, “Grantaire’s made you tease me more.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean—“

“No,” he stopped Ferre, looking down. “I think it’s funny.”

Ferre nodded, still smiling and handing him back the paper. “I can’t believe I didn’t remember you writing that,” he said.

“Yeah,” Enjolras laughed. “Yeah, at six, I wanted to marry you. I had such a good head on my shoulders, and then fast forward twelve years, and I date Montparnasse, so—what does that tell you?”

“God, Parnasse,” Combeferre groaned. “Why is he suddenly popping up in conversation?”

“Did Grantaire tell you we talked about him a while ago?”

“Yeah, he mentioned it.”

Enjolras nodded to himself, “I was telling him about that, um…”

“The library,” Combeferre finished for him. He knew.

“Yes,” Enjolras confirmed. “I always meant to ask--I mean, all our friends wouldn’t stop talking to me about what a strange decision it was, to date him, but you never really said anything.” He bit on the inside of his cheek, obviously debating if this was an appropriate question to ask. “You didn’t like him, did you?”

“Oh, God, no,” Combeferre nearly laughed in disbelief. “I didn’t like him at all. But it was your decision.”

Enjolras hummed, “That’s all?”

Combeferre studied him for a moment, wondering what he meant by that. The true answer was that it was so much more than that. It had been a silence in pain, in worry, in nearly overwhelming anger that someone like Montparnasse had somehow stolen Enjolras’ attention. It was much more complicated than just the simple fact that it was Enjolras’ decision and needed to be respected on that simple basis.

Ferre took a deep breath, “Parnasse—“ he stopped himself. He could tell him everything, or he could just say Parnasse pissed him off, or he could just decline to say anything. He was leaning towards hiding, that being the thing that had gotten him this far, at least, but if they were ever going to ask Enjolras to join their relationship—some things had to be said.

And he was done with not giving true answers, not when Enjolras was so close and he was pressing Combeferre to give up even more truth.

“Okay, um—Parnasse would seek me out a lot, while you were dating and even before, and then even after,” he began. “He, um, he knew I liked you.” He let that confession sink in before continuing. “You were my whole world, Enj, and he picked up on it really quick. So he would—“

“You had feelings for me?” Enjolras interrupted, and Ferre was forced to look into his friend’s face, surprise clear. “Romantic feelings?”

Combeferre nodded.

“How long?”

“Years,” he confessed, a breathy laugh escaping him. “I never knew how to say it. And when you wanted to date someone, I never wanted to get in the way, but Parnasse figured it out in seconds, it seemed. And he never let me forget it. He tried to gloat anytime he could, and eventually—he was at some party of ours, and I was a little bit drunk at this point, and I remember him saying he was going to tell you about me, about how I felt.”

He paused, shaking his head. “And I should have just pushed him away or something like that, said that they wouldn’t take his word over mine, but I was really scared. I was really, really scared that our friendship would fall apart if you knew I—if you knew that I…loved you.” He swallowed, taking a deep breath. “Sorry, it’s just a lot that I kept private from you for a while.”

Enjolras was silent, just looking at Ferre. Then, quietly, he asked for confirmation. “You loved me?”

He couldn’t read the tone. Months before, he would have ran. He would have panicked, denied everything he had just said. It was too much to handle, or it had been back then, to allow Enjolras to know his deepest thoughts about him. Best friends were safe. Best friends were not people who dreamed about kissing their best friends. And Combeferre ached to explain that he could be _both._ At least now, he could be both.

“Yes,” he replied. It was as simply as that. He did not offer the past tense anymore, because it was simply untrue.

“I wouldn’t have let it change anything.”

“You’re kind,” Ferre said, smiling. Enjolras continued to watch him, so Combeferre coughed and moved on. “I was too selfishly nervous that Montparnasse would tell you, so I just kept as silent as I could when he was around..”

 “Wow,” Enjolras breathed. “Ferre, I—I really didn’t know.” To clarify, he went on. “About you, I mean. I had no idea you...felt that way.”

“I would hope you didn’t.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Um…did I have to do with why you left?”

Ferre winced. He should have thought about that. He had already admitted to liking Enjolras for years, to being in _love_ with him. Of course he would ask when it stopped. _And did it?_ No, it hadn’t.

And though he was afraid of where this conversation was quickly going, he had a commitment to the truth.

“Yes,” he finally said. “Yeah, I wanted to…yeah.”

“Wow,” he repeated. “Wow, and then—“

“I met R,” Combeferre supplied helpfully, his lips twisting into a wry smile. Enjolras nodded. “I met R, and that was…very good. It’s still very good. I am—“ he laughed at himself, “I am so thankful for him.”

Enjolras hummed, “He’s thankful for you, too.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded, “He’s told me all the nice things you say, and how you’ve showed him how it’s okay to be himself, and how you’ve made him hopeful.”

Combeferre couldn’t help himself. Even then, with Enjolras as the person to whom both he and R had pinned affection, he softened at the idea that his boyfriend said these things to other people. To Enjolras. “It’s easy to love him.”

“You know, a few months ago, and I would have disagreed,” Enjolras admitted. “But—I see it now. I do. I’m happy he’s here. I told him that.”

“You did?” When Enjolras nodded, Ferre smiled. “I know he appreciated that.”

Enjolras shrugged, “I meant it.”

And wasn’t this easy? It was easy talking about Grantaire with Enjolras, talking about how good he was, how they were happy he was around them. They were already acting like they were all together, spending time with one another in softness, Grantaire nearly kissing him, talking about how great the other ones were. The way that Enjolras looked as he talked about Grantaire, mirroring Combeferre’s pride in his boyfriend, mirroring Combeferre’s peace in the person that he was.

He knew that he had told himself to take this slow. He thought that it would be easy, just like it had been before he’d left. He thought it would have been busy to sit by, to see if Enjolras came to them, even. But now? Sitting there, close and wanting to say so much and being forced into silence? It was too much. He felt like he could burst and--

“Enjolras, I think I’m still in love with you,” he blurted out.

“Combeferre, no—“

“Hear me out,” he begged, his heart racing. He made sure that his eyes didn’t leave Enjolras’. He was sure. It had to come out sometime, and—when would he have this courage again? “Grantaire knows. It’s not bad.”

“Grantaire knows that you’re…Combeferre, what’s going on?” Enjolras, seemingly worried about his health, reached out to touch his arm. Ferre answered by picking his hand up in between both of his.

“I didn’t mean to do this. I thought I was over you when I came back. I really did think that, but then I realized I was thinking about you the same way I used to, and then I was trying to hide it from Grantaire, so I was getting angry and impatient with him, and—he called me out,” Ferre explained, his words rushed. Enjolras was pinned still by shock. “And it was fine. It was just…something in the back of my mind. But then Grantaire was hanging out with you more and more.”

“That’s been months now.”

“Yeah. Yeah and—more recently, he’s…we’ve both--,” he was stuttering. This was the discussion he and Grantaire had not prepared for yet. But the ball had been rolling. He needed to keep going. “We both have feelings for you. Romantic feelings. Both of us.”

Enjolras’ lips parted, his brow knitting. “What—what were you going to do? Just…keep this?”

“We wanted to ask you to join us, eventually, but—“

“But what?” And Ferre could see Enjolras was gaining his strength. “I’ve been spending time with R for months, and with you for _years_ , and then with you _both_. And you and Grantaire were just—discussing this without me. If you were going to ask me to join, why was I not part of any conversation?”

“We didn’t know how to tell you,” Ferre said, as softly as possible.

“You can’t just spring years of feelings on me, and then spring on that you _still_ have them, and that your boyfriend has them, and—I went home, those nights we all hung out, and I thought to myself how nice it was to spend time with you, how nice it was to spend time with people who had no expectations for me, and included me, and—you weren’t doing that,” Enjolras continued, looking away finally. He let out a bitter laugh, “Not to mention the _guilt_ when I thought about _more_ with _either_ of you.”

“Enjolras,” he tried.

He answered by pulling his hand away to run through his curls.

“Enjolras, we wanted to tell you. We both respect you so much and—“

“You didn’t show it,” Enjolras told him. “You…told me today that you didn’t respect me enough to clue me in. What were you waiting for, anyway? Were you hoping I’d do something crazy? The other night, I—I almost kissed R, Combeferre, and I think he almost kissed me, and I was so _guilty_ over that.”

Combeferre hadn’t thought of that. He hadn’t known. All he had known was that Combeferre’s boyfriend had been very close to kissing him, and that Combeferre wasn’t there, and that Combeferre wouldn’t know. “I hadn’t thought of that,” he murmured.

“Why would you? You were busy having a relationship with someone else, thinking of what a nice idea it would be if I was around, while I worried about breaking up your relationship,” Enjolras went on. He had found his strength, his answers. And he was _angry. “_ You talked about being worried that admitting that you had feelings for me would ruin our friendship? What about me worrying about today, wondering if I should be admitting that I almost kissed your boyfriend, not knowing that you were probably cheering him on at home? I was nervous over our _friendship_ , my friendship with _Grantaire_ , and your relationship with Grantaire! This is—this is _awful_ , Combeferre.”

Combeferre gaped, shaking his head. “Enjolras, I don’t know how I can make this better. I—“

“Don’t worry about that now, just—I don’t know. I can’t make a decision like this.”

“Please.” Combeferre begged, “Please, I’ll leave you alone to think. I promise, but—please, know that we both care for you. I know we didn’t show that we did, but we really do. We’re going to respect what you want to do. We are.”

Enjolras rose from the couch, shaking his head furiously. “I can’t make a decision like this,” he repeated.

Just then, Courfeyrac and Marius burst into the apartment. Combeferre knew he shouldn’t be surprised, the two of them being Enjolras’ roommates.

“Ferre!” Courf’s voice boomed. “What’s the—uh-oh, what’s that?” He pointed at Enjolras, who was stumbling and still shaking his head and saying he needed to be alone.

Combeferre took a deep breath and pulled Courfeyrac with him, “I’ll explain outside.” He shoved Courfeyrac out the door before calling out to a quickly retreating Enjolras. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m sorry, Enjolras, for what we did.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which two worry, and one decides.

“Why the fuck would you do something like that?” Courfeyrac shouted, hands on his head in clear stress. Combeferre had to hand it to him: he had been more quiet during his long explanation of what had happened--from leaving, to believing he was over Enjolras, to moving back and realizing he wasn’t, to Grantaire figuring it out, to Grantaire figuring out his _own_ feelings about Enjolras--and then how he had properly fucked it all up in a matter of minutes. Through months of pining and planning and hoping, he had fucked it up.

“I’m going to need you to be specific with what you mean,” he sighed, not knowing what he should explain first.

“It’s Enjolras,” Courfeyrac began, his eyes wild, “How many times have people paid attention to him purely out of aesthetics, purely because of his looks, and then got cold feet when they realized he’s a real person, with real weirdness, not some person to project all they want on him? How many times has he only been an idea to people?”

“But that’s not what we were doing--”

“It doesn’t matter what you thought you were doing, though!” he exclaimed, and for once, Combeferre was thankful for the volume. It kept him grounded, let him know that he was very sincerely in the wrong here. “You kept him in the dark. He’s probably thinking of all the times that you spoke to Grantaire, imagined him being there, and that imagining? That wasn’t Enjolras. That was you projecting.”

Combeferre wanted to protest. He wanted Courfeyrac to shout happily, to hug him close and have his biggest complaint be that it was only Enjolras and Ferre and Grantaire together, without him. He didn’t want to feel like the biggest asshole in the world, but that’s where he was.

“What do I do?” he sighed, taking off his glasses to rub his eyes. “ _God_ , Courf, I know we fucked up, but we were talking about how best to tell him, and we never pushed anything, _really_ , and I can’t take the idea that I just ruined any relationship I ever had with my best friend.” Before he knew it, Ferre felt a pull behind his eyes. “He’s so upset, Courf.”

“I know,” Courfeyrac said, crossing his arms, “Honestly, Ferre, so am I. Like--do you know Enjolras? At all? He’s not a bad person.”

“I know he’s not--”

“Do you?” he questioned.

“Yes!” Combeferre put his glasses back on at once, ignoring the sting of his eyes against the anxiety of the situation. “Yes, because I know how intense he can be, but I also know he’s gentle. I know injustice makes him angry, but it also makes him so exhausted that sometimes he’s too tired to find that he’s happy changing someone’s life. I-I-I know that he makes me climb out of this...shell of being so goal-driven and robotic, just by being himself. I know his diet is extremely non-nutritious, due to his addiction to carbs, but I love that. I think it’s crazy, but I love it, because he’s so incredibly human. I _know_ him, Courf. That’s why this is killing me. I know I fucked up, and I did wrong and--I just want to fix this.”

Courfeyrac stared at him with what seemed to be pity, but his words didn’t match. “I’m not helping you with this. You’ve--this is between you and Enjolras. Grantaire, too, yeah. But this has to be only you and Enjolras and Grantaire. Emphasis on Enjolras being included.”

“Do you think I’ve got a shot on mending this?”

He blew out air from his cheeks, “I didn’t think you had it in you to do this shit. I don’t know what to think about what’s next.” After a moment of hesitation, he reached out to cup Ferre’s shoulder. “But I love you. I love Enj, too. So--for my own selfish reasons, I hope you work it out. Life will be extremely inconvenient if you don’t.”

Combeferre took a deep breath, “The strangest thing, to me, is that I would never had let this happen.”

“You did, though.”

“No, I mean--if I wasn’t with Grantaire, I don’t think I ever would have told Enjolras,” Ferre said, knitting his brow. “I would have just kept going, letting things fall, letting myself throw self-pity parties every now and again. But with Grantaire, with him encouraging me, and him talking about how much he likes Enjolras, too--it made me so much more ready to want to try, to change things.” His lips turned up, a smile that didn’t come close to reaching his eyes, “If my relationship with R crumbles, will you help me then?”

Courfeyrac hesitated, “Probably. Maybe. If I decide I like you after this, and--”

“Courfeyrac, not you, too.”

“I’m not sure at this point if I’d trust you in a knife fight. This was some shady shit. You went from _my go-to guy in a knife fight_ to _the guy that I would probably turn to if some others weren’t available._ I’m just being real with you.”

Combeferre took a deep breath, choosing not to critique his best friend’s standards for trusting people when they included knife fights. “Okay. Okay, fine. Thank you for listening anyway.”

“Yeah, well, you kind of dragged me out, so--” Courfeyrac sighed. Only then did he reach out, pull Ferre in for a hug. “Keep your head clear. Keep it on what’s important, all right?” Before Ferre could stop him, Courfeyrac kissed him on the temple. “I’m going back inside, all right?”

“And I...must break the news to my boyfriend,” Combeferre realized, stepping away.

Courfeyrac grimaced, already walking inside, “Good fucking luck, my man!” And then he was gone, leaving Combeferre to walk home.

He didn’t know how to break it to Grantaire. He didn’t know what he was going to say, as hard as he tried to order his thoughts. He couldn’t think of any way to tell his boyfriend that all they had been hoping for had been destroyed, because of his own nerves and stupidity.

When he opened their door, his forehead was creased in frustration and thought, and Grantaire stood from his place on the couch. “What’s wrong?” he asked, worried already. “You said you wouldn’t be home for a long time, since you and Enj--”

“He’s so mad, Grantaire,” Ferre breathed, trying to keep himself calm. “I--I’m so sorry. I told him. Grantaire, I just...blurted it out, because we were--”

“You told him?” Grantaire murmured, his eyes wide. Combeferre nodded, somber as anything, watching as Grantaire felt back into a chair. “But we were going to discuss how. We weren’t going to do this now, and...he’s upset? What happened?”

“We were talking about when we were little, and he had written he was going to marry me when we were six.”

“That’s so fucking cute, though,” Grantaire mumbled.

“I know,” Combeferre laughed, albeit nervously. “I know. But then I admitted that I had feelings for him. There was something about Parnasse, too, but I--I can’t remember. I just remember this going on and on, and then we were talking about you, and he--he likes you so much, Grantaire.” Combeferre interrupted himself to say this, shaking his head, his quickly watering eyes clear. “He likes you _so much_. It’s so clear, and then I burst. I told him I thought I was still in love with him and--and it was so _stupid_ , Grantaire.”

Grantaire didn’t know what to do, so he tentatively put his arm over Combeferre’s shoulders, feeling how he was breathing so heavily, his heart beating rapidly. “It’s okay,” he tried.

“No,” Combeferre said forcefully, straightening. “No, because then he told me, like, what we were doing was really wrong. We didn’t include him! This should have included him, because it _did_ , and we kept him in the dark. And the worst part is that I _knew,_ somewhere in me, that it was wrong. When we were in bed, when we were in bed, Grantaire, I _knew_ it was wrong to talk about him the way we did.” He swallowed, “I knew it was wrong, and I didn’t do anything.”

“Neither did I.”

“You didn’t know him like I did--”

“Stop,” Grantaire interrupted, making Combeferre look him in the eyes. “I did this, too. I got to know him, too, and really well, at that. If you’re going to beat yourself up for this, I’m going to beat myself up for it, too. And deserve that. But I’m also going to help you apologize, and I’m going to _help_ you with this, Ferre. Believe it or not, he’s really important to me, too. I don’t--I’m not angry with you for telling him. We needed to eventually, and, yes, this is definitely...less than ideal. But it’s what we’re working with now, so please, take a deep breath, and let’s think through this.”

“I feel like it’d be wrong to think of strategies about Enjolras without telling him.”

“So let’s tell him,” Grantaire suggested, pulling out his phone. “He may not answer, but we’ve got nothing to lose.” He began to call Enjolras, and predictably got his voicemail. “Hey, Enj, Combeferre told me what happened. First off, I’m really sorry. At the very least, I’d really like to hear what you’ve got to say about everything, even if I can’t fix anything. I know Ferre feels the same. Um...yeah. Yeah, I’m really sorry. Be well.” He found his words feeling inadequate, all things falling short of what he wanted to say. And he knew there were very little resources to figure out what to do. There were no silly rom-coms or television scenarios to liken to the one they were currently in. There was Joly and Chetta and Bossuet, but he couldn’t ask them without spilling their entire situation.

In his very stable relationship, while laying his head on his partner’s shoulder, Grantaire had never felt so lonely.

“We weren’t going to say anything for a while,” he repeated.

Combeferre groaned, nodding. “I know. God, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. It was like I couldn’t _stop_ talking, you know?”

“Yeah, I think I’ve been there a few thousand times,” Grantaire muttered.

“He just--he was being so _cute_ Grantaire, and the way he talks about you,” Combeferre broke off to shake his head, to make eye contact with him. “It made me want to run home and kiss you, right then, I swear. And the fact that it was Enjolras saying this stuff? About how he’s happy you’re around and everything? I was done for.”

Grantaire swallowed, not knowing how to process quiet frustration with Combeferre for breaking their plans while also being excited at the thought that Enjolras speaks of him in such a way that warrants Combeferre to break his _composure._ It was difficult to understand, difficult to balance. But there was nothing he could do then but wait and hope. It was useless to become angry with Combeferre, or anxious about Enjolras--he hadn’t done shit besides the shit that Enjolras knew about.

“I’m just as sorry as you are,” he told Combeferre, leaning against him again. “And I’m here. And we’ll figure this out. So put on your _why should I worry_ hat, the one that you seem to misplace whenever Enjolras is involved, and _please_ don’t freak out too much.”

“Sounds near to impossible.”

Grantaire snorted, “It’s what we’ve got.”

************************************************

And streets away, past corners and and through buildings, Enjolras was suffering a different kind of loneliness as he sat on Feuilly’s couch.

“Combeferre always knew everything about me,” he said, his fingers through his golden curls. “I told him everything. Even when he moved away, I made sure he would know if anything happened. But he never told me everything. I mean--not that he _needs_ to, of course not, but this is a _lot._ ”

“Yeah,” Feuilly murmured, and Enjolras knew it wasn’t like him to be as quiet as he was now. But Enjolras also knew this was a very strange situation.

Enjolras stared at the ceiling, “There is so much wrong with this situation! There is so much wrong. I almost kissed Grantaire! I almost kissed Grantaire even though I _knew_ he was with Combeferre, and I _thought_ he was _only_ okay with being with Combeferre.” His eyes were wide when he looked back to Feuilly, “I was fine with possibly being a homewrecker! And before that? God, I was angry with Combeferre for moving in with Grantaire. I should just admit that. I was angry, and very _very_ possibly jealous, and--what is going on?” He rose from the couch, shaking his head. “I have too much to do, and they have just...barreled into all aspects of my life. I have no focus, Feuilly! None! Wh--”

“Okay, Enj, please,” he said, getting up to put his hands on Enjolras’ shoulders. “You’re losing your grasp on the situation.”

“I have no grasp on the situation,” he huffed.

Feuilly smiled, unable to keep himself from doing so. “You definitely do. I know they fucked up--I am sure _they_ know they fucked up. But you definitely have control of all of this. You just...need to figure out what you want.” He sighed, “That’s vague. I’m sorry, but I’ve never exactly been in this situation.”

“Has anyone?” Enjolras asked, leaning his forehead against Feuilly’s shoulder.

Feuilly pat his back, “Probably, but we know Joly and Chetta and Bossuet’s stories aren’t like this one, so we have no resources.” He nudged Enjolras up and towards the kitchen, where he handed him a cup of water to calm him down. Jumping up on the counter, he asked him, “So--you almost kissed Grantaire, and you’re pretty sure you had some feelings for Combeferre.”

Enjolras nodded as he sipped.

“So it’s a matter of deciding to enter a relationship with people who were too nervous to let you know that they wanted you to join their relationship?” he asked, and he held up his hands when Enjolras opened his mouth to argue, “I know that it’s more than that. I know, but...what’s the decision here?”

“It was just sprung on me,” Enjolras explained. “I’m not heartless. I understand that it can be a scary thing. I _get_ that. What I _don’t_ get is how they basically were dating me, or... _courting_ me or something, but I didn’t know. They knew, but I didn’t.” He pursed his lips as he looked down again, “I felt like they were playing a game with one another. And I--at this point, I want it to be real.”

“Well, it probably--”

“But it may not be,” Enjolras said, and his quiet tone making Feuilly reach out to pull him close again. “I mean...now that I know--I’ve thought about it. I’ve thought about how nice it could be, but...it could be really bad.”

“I don’t mean to invalidate you, Enj, but--that’s something anyone thinks before a relationship,” Feuilly said slowly. “I’m not going to tell you what to do, and I’m not going to say you’re wrong to feel weird about this. I mean, this is really weird.”

Enjolras sighed, “But?” he prompted.

“But,” Feuilly continued, laughing softly, “If you take some time, think this through with them? It could be good.”

Enjolras didn’t answer for a while, his face in tight confusion. Truthfully, he didn’t know if he could do what Ferre and Grantaire wanted. He didn’t know if he could put not one, but two people over his causes. He didn’t know if he could be a good boyfriend, if he would _like_ being in a relationship like this. He would be entering into a serious relationship, a late arrival to a long-term relationship.

As if reading his mind, a cue to enter his life at the thought _long-term relationship_ , Bahorel came through the apartment at that moment, only to find Feuilly and Enjolras in the kitchen. “Hey, Enj,” he said, before reaching out to Feuilly. “Babe,” he murmured more quietly, kissing him once, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Feuilly answered, not bothering to hide his affection around one such as Enjolras. His hands rested on Bahorel’s chest, “Enjolras had a rough day.”

“Who do I need to beat up?” he asked immediately, and Enjolras got the feeling that he was only half-joking.

“No one,” he answered, waving Bahorel away. “I just need time to sort things out.”

Feuilly frowned before he tilted his head towards the living room. “I’m going to help Bahorel start dinner, Enj, if you want to wait--”

“I don’t want to intrude…”

“What the fuck?” Bahorel interrupted them both. “Who do you think we are? You’re not intruding. Go sit down.”

Enjolras smiled at that and went to do as he said. He pulled a throw pillow across his chest and into his lap, certain that Feuilly was debriefing Bahorel on _something_ , letting him know at least the bare minimum about why Enjolras was staying there. But he was also certain that his trust in Feuilly was well-placed, and that he wouldn’t tell Bahorel everything.

He sighed, watching the entrance to the kitchen until his friend walked through, smile easy and relaxed. There had been no raised voices, for which Enjolras was eternally grateful. He answered Feuilly’s expression with a smile of his own. “Thank you,” he said, as genuinely as he could.

“For what? I told you that I’m here for this stuff.”

“I know, but--still, Feuilly,” his eyes widened a bit. “Thank you so much.”

Feuilly nodded, by now used to these devoted expressions of gratitude or admiration or whatever else Enjolras felt for him. “Of course, Enj.”

Bahorel came in a moment later, collapsing next to Feuilly with a beer in his right hand and his left arm over him. “We had that soup from last time that you liked,” he told Enjolras. “The vegan shit.”

“It’s not _shit_ \--” Feuilly insisted, rolling his eyes.

“No one’s saying that! I use _shit_ for everything. I call you a shit,” he argued. “And I fucking love you.” Feuilly couldn’t hide his smile from that, so Bahorel turned to Enjolras. “Anyway, that’s heating up.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras said, looking between him and Feuilly. Hugging the pillow closer to his chest, he was happy to see that Bahorel was taking the silence to speak, something about his day seeming to energize him enough to keep speaking.

“You know, I really fuckin’ hate when Feu has these days off, right? He doesn’t have many days off, you know this, but I hate when he does and I don’t. It just doesn’t seem right--the workaholic staying home and me actually going into work. Do you know what it’s like? Seeing this _fucking_ angel--”

“Stop,” Feuilly said, smiling a bit shyly.

“Absolutely not. I see this _angel_ all sleepy and wanting to cuddle like I’ve never even _seen_ before, and I’ve got to put on serious clothes and go out to see serious people about serious stuff that isn’t remotely interesting. It’s torture, I’m telling you.”

Enjolras couldn’t help but smile, the purity in what he was saying making Feuilly embarrassed. He wasn’t exactly stopping Bahorel, though. He leaned against his chest, looking content in the way that Bahorel only tightened his arm around him. “It’s pretty weird for me, too.”

“Yeah? You’re passed out asleep whenever I leave,” Bahorel said, “Honestly, Feuilly, you could sleep through the apocalypse if you let yourself chill.”

“Good thing you never let me chill for too long.”

“I let you chill, shithead.”

Feuilly only pursed his lips together. “Let me have a sip,” he demanded, his hand open.

“You won’t like it,” Bahorel warned, though he still gave the bottle to Feuilly. There was something soft, even as Feuilly made a face for being told what he would or would not like. There was something attractively soft about the way that Bahorel knew Feuilly’s habits, brought them up to make his evening just that much more pleasant.

As he told a sputtering Feuilly, “I told you that you wouldn’t like it,” Enjolras indulged himself in his own desire for something like what they had. He knew he didn’t _need_ it. He had never bought in to the idea that a person needed another to feel complete, to feel content in life. He still didn’t believe that. But as Feuilly leaned into Bahorel, hiding a smile, hadn’t he always been happier with Bahorel?

_Can’t I have something like that?_

“What are we doing tonight?” Bahorel sighed then, finishing off the bottle and setting it aside.

“Enjolras is staying over,” Feuilly started, then looked at the blond. “Right?”

“Yeah, if that’s all right,” Enjolras said.

Bahorel stretched out on the sofa, “Already said it’s all right,” he said, “Besides, we’re starting _Daredevil_ tonight.”

Feuilly made a face, “I...may have--”

“No,” he pleaded.

“--I was folding laundry, and I needed something to watch, and--”

“Oh my God,” Bahorel shook the head, “The utmost betrayal. Enjolras--” he pointed at him, “Don’t ever date anyone who would watch your shows without you. Shit, who would watch _potential_ shows without you.” Feuilly was groaning, trying to get him to calm down; Enjolras, on the other hand, was laughing. Bahorel sighed, his eyes not leaving Feuilly’s face. “I hope you’re ready to watch it again.”

“I’ll watch it again,” he said.

“And not spoil it?”

“I’ll watch it _quietly_ , Rel,” Feuilly continued, already getting the remote. “You good with this, Enj?”

“Yeah,” he said, settling in as Bahorel retrieved the soup from the stove. He thought about what Bahorel said--about dating someone who would save television, or make sure you’re included, or anything like it. Even if it was lighthearted, only a joke at Feuilly’s expense, Enjolras realized that he was comparing his statement to Grantaire and Combeferre.

Grantaire and Combeferre, who had said they would invite him over to watch television with them again. Who were so _fun_ to be around together, who were good and--

He had to stop himself. He wouldn’t make a decision about any relationship based on one thing Bahorel said, or even what Feuilly said. He knew he was still hurt, still confused as to whether Combeferre and Grantaire could treat him in the way he wanted to be treated-- _real_ , pure, raw.

At the very least, he knew they wouldn’t watch Ancient Aliens without him, and the thought made him smile--even the smallest bit--into his pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be honest, the Feuilly and Bahorel in this chapter was more self-indulgent than anything. Shoot me a message if you're into that ship because I never get tired about talking about those two. I just needed to say that.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are resolutions, fruit snacks, and supermarket space babes.

It was nine o’clock Sunday morning, five days after, and Grantaire was surveying the eggs in the pan, Combeferre reading in his pajamas, when someone knocked at the door.

“Who the fuck--” Grantaire began, but Combeferre left to answer it. He heard some voices, and then Combeferre called out to him, calling his name. So he dutifully turned down the stove and went into the entrance.

His eyebrows shot up, Enjolras standing there looking stunning, per usual, and with fire in his eyes, per expectation. Enjolras nodded at him, “Grantaire. I apologize that I haven’t answered any of your voicemails and only three of your texts.”

It took him a moment to respond out of surprise, “No apology necessary.”

He looked between him and Combeferre, “May I stay for a bit? I’d like to talk to both of you.”

“Of course,” Combeferre answered, and Grantaire reinforced by nodding.

“Let me just--do you want breakfast, Enj?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“All right,” he murmured, more to himself as he went to bring the food to the table where Enjolras and Combeferre were sitting. His stomach was too busy flipping to accept breakfast, however, and he watched with shallow breath as Enjolras sighed.

“I don’t have anything that I want out of this conversation. I’m not here with any agenda. I want to be heard, and I want to hear you, too. And--honestly, I’d like to ask that you not have an agenda as well,” he started. “

“All of my aimless life, I have been waiting for this very moment,” Grantaire said, as sincerely as he could.

Enjolras pursed his lips, “Is that a deflection of sarcasm?”

He winced in response, “I’m guessing you’d like sarcasm to wait, too.”

“It would be helpful,” Enjolras said quietly, and when he wasn’t interrupted, he continued on. “When I was told that you were carrying on some plan--in any measure of complexity--to win my affections, I didn’t feel as though you were treating me as a real person. I didn’t feel comfortable with the idea that you were confiding your feelings in one another, thinking of ways to become closer with me, to forge relationships with me, while I was feeling very guilty for developing feelings for people in a relationship with one another.” As carefully practiced as this speech was, Grantaire noted every twitch of his hands, the way Enjolras’ fingers pinched at the drawstrings of his sweatshirt. He was carefully hiding his nerves, his hesitation--but it was still there.

And still, he was intrepid. “I understand that it was scary, and I understand the feeling that you didn’t think you were ready to tell me. Combeferre--” he broke to address him directly, “From what you’ve told me, after years, I can understand that maybe it just seemed like a continuation of that time--” Combeferre nodded, confirming what it was. Enjolras sighed, “But it’s different. I needed to know. I still need to know.”

A brief silence passed between them, and Combeferre cleared his throat. “I can’t even begin to say how much I regret the way I handled this,” he said, his voice quiet and sincere. Grantaire’s hand rested on his back, letting him know he had his support. “You’ve really helped me see where I’ve gone wrong. There’s no confusion there. I can get really specific about my apologies, if you let me.”

Grantaire hummed in agreement, “And I know Ferre, and I know I probably pushed more than he did. I’m sorry for the flirting that may have heaped on some more confusion.”

“Thank you,” Enjolras replied, nodding. “It was all...very overwhelming to know. I mean, Ferre, you know how people are with me. And Grantaire, the first time we spoke alone, you compared me to a Greek god. There are always red flags when people kind of--project feelings on to me.”

“We weren’t pr--” Grantaire tried, but Enjolras stretched out his fingers to silently ask for space to speak. He relented.

“You did,” Enjolras insisted. “In at least some capacity, you did. I need to know the whole story to make any sort of choice, and I knew nothing of the whole story. I was an idea. That’s not...that’s not how you treat someone.”

Combeferre nodded, as did Grantaire. “We know that. Now, we know that,” Combeferre murmured. 

“Good,” Enjolras replied, and his eyes flicked to the breakfast. “Are you going to have any eggs?”

“I’m kind of fixating on you right now, so probably not,” Grantaire said honestly. “Do you want some?”

“Vegan,” Enjolras reminded, wrinkling his nose. 

“Right,” Grantaire sighed. “Right. Um--I can make you toast. It would be butterless, but…”

“I’m fine. Thank you, though,” he replied, nodding to himself. 

“Do you--,” Grantaire hesitated, looking at Combeferre briefly, “Do you need to say anything else, or…?”

“I have plenty I want to say, but a lot of it I’d say to each of you. I’d also like to think about how I feel about this morning for a bit,” Enjolras said, nodding as he went. “So you can say anything you wanted to say, if you have anything.”

“Are you kidding?” Grantaire asked, laughing once. “Enjolras--fuck, I have so much to say. I’m pretty sure I’ve annoyed Combeferre with how obnoxious I am with talking about how much I like you, and that’s saying something. I mean...Jesus, it got to a point that I’d have actual, real, eight-year-old butterflies on Christmas morning-type excitement on the mornings that we were hanging out.” At that, Enjolras cracked the first tiny smile of the day, shaking his head. “It’s true! I had to force myself to run a tiny bit late to conserve that cool,  _ I-don’t-care-about-punctuality  _ thing I had going on with you.”

“Which annoyed me every time,” Enjolras snapped, but Grantaire saw the way he bit the inside of his cheek.

“Listen,” Grantaire requested. “Listen, Enjolras, I’m not presuming that this can still work. This is your choice now, man, but--I like you so much. I think you’re fucking amazing. From the first moments we hung out, after I ate my own foot, I think I was over with, honestly. Combeferre didn’t get what I mean--I kept saying how much I liked arguing with you, and he was all  _ well, you like arguing with everyone _ \--”

“I’m right here,” he murmured next to him.

“I’m declaring my feelings for Enjolras. Have some sensitivity,” Grantaire chided. He turned back to Enjolras with a dramatic eye roll. “Boyfriends, honestly. But I genuinely, really could not wait to talk to you again, even when we disagreed on everything.”

Enjolras tilted his head, and studied Grantaire for a few moments. “I was always excited to see you, too.”

“That is...that is really fucking cool,” he said after a beat, quieted by the realization that Enjolras was admitting his own feelings, however subtly. But he didn’t press. “So, um--I’m still in this. If you’re up for discussing how we can do this whole thing, I’m here for it. I want to let you know.”

“Okay,” Enjolras replied, “Thank you. Okay.”

“And Enjolras?” Combeferre prompted, turning the blond’s attention to himself. “When I said what I did--when I say that I love you, it’s not despite of Grantaire. It’s not taking away what I feel for him.” He turned his head, matching Grantaire’s eyes on him, and offered a small smile. Though he spoke to Enjolras, he never looked away from Grantaire. “I love him. Anything that I say to you is an  _ addition _ to what I feel for him. I know I wasn’t clear, but I want to be clear now.” He turned back to Enjolras, but Grantaire couldn’t help but stare at Combeferre’s profile. “I love Grantaire. I love you, and I love him. It’s not a matter of either. It never was. You never once created a disruption in our relationship.”

Enjolras, to Ferre’s surprise, smiled. He smiled kindly, looking between Combeferre and Grantaire, digesting all that was said. “Good,” he said quietly, as though their relationship’s stability was of utmost joy to him. Perhaps it was. “I...I think I needed to hear that. Thank you.”

“It’s true,” Combeferre said, nodding. “I want to be really truthful with you now. I think Grantaire can agree with me that this should be on your terms for a while.”

“It should be on all of our terms,” Enjolras argued, straightening up. “Do you mean until I make my decision?”

“Yes,” Combeferre answered quickly, “Yes, until then. Absolutely, I want this to be equal if it works.”

He paused for a moment, “I don’t want to say yes to anything yet. I want time to figure this out, and I want time with both of you to help with that. Combeferre--the more I think about things, the more I wonder if...if I had feelings for you before you left,” he confessed. “And we have a lot to figure out.”

Combeferre seemed to be in shock from this confession, and Grantaire snorted in his silence, “I tried to tell you.” He did. That long evening way back, when he tried to explain that he believed Enjolras had feelings for him--oh, well. It was all out in the open now.

Ferre finally took a deep breath to answer, “Yeah. Yeah, we have a lot--a lot to work out. Um…”

“But,” Enjolras interrupted, “Grantaire and I are still getting to know one another. It’d be intensely unequal, given all our time together. So, Grantaire, I’d like to continue our afternoons together.”

“Shit, would you call them dates, too?” Grantaire asked, smiling.

“I’m not calling them anything but what they are,” Enjolras responded, though his lips curved into a soft smile. “Is that all right?”

“Absolutely,” he said, “I’ll show up on time and everything.”

“Will you?” Enjolras teased.

“If I’m late, you can damn well bet I’ll have some great story as to why.”

“You’ll have a fake story for me.”

“Fair, but it’ll be  _ great _ ,” Grantaire insisted. After a beat, eyes bright as they looked in Enjolras’ shining ones, he tilted his head. “I can’t wait.”

Enjolras looked at him, and then looked at Combeferre, straightening up in his seat. He smiled, a tiny, even serious-looking thing. But a smile nonetheless. “Me either.”

***********************************

** Six Months Later **

It had taken three months for Enjolras to kiss Combeferre, but once he did--they didn’t stop for hours. They’d been right; there was more to work out between them than they’d realized. There were years of missed opportunities, almost as many that Enjolras had given Combeferre as the opposite was true. There were a lot of confused moments ( _ you wanted to kiss me then? I wanted to kiss you then! Why didn’t you?) _ , and there were a lot of frightening moments ( _ do you think we were right in staying away from one another? Maybe we knew something would be wrong. _ ), but overall, there was a feeling of getting it  _ right _ .

Grantaire had laughed at them when they began to add that level to their relationship. He had said that they were like hormonal teenagers in high school again, wanting to do nothing but kiss one another. When Combeferre and Enjolras put limits on themselves, reasoning that it wasn’t fair to do that--at least not in front of Grantaire--while Enjolras was still getting to know him, Grantaire had looked at them in disbelief. “But it’s really hot,” he had argued, both of their faces turning hot.

It took four months for Enjolras to kiss Grantaire, and from then--Combeferre wondered if they  _ ever  _ stopped. Even now, two months after that in the grocery store, Grantaire had his arms wrapped around Enjolras, declaiming in all of his dramatics the virtues of one child’s fruit snacks to another brand. And Enjolras was laughing, pushing away Grantaire’s hair so he could kiss his face.

“Well, see, I like this brand because not only does it have sharks in it, but the kissing seemed to pick up when you heard me talking about it, so either you’re really into sharks or--”

“Or I’m into you.”

“I’m so not going to ever be used to you saying that,” he murmured, turning so he could kiss Enjolras properly.

Combeferre coughed, “Guys, as much as this is really great and warms my heart, we’re in the middle of a grocery store.”

Grantaire sighed as they broke away, “We’re in our honeymoon phase.”

“Can you please pretend to  _ not  _ be in your honeymoon phase for about ten more minutes until we go home?” he requested, and Enjolras put an arm around his shoulder, kissing his cheek.

“Yes,” he answered Combeferre. “Because I want to go home soon.”

Combeferre couldn’t help but feel his breathing hitch, even just a bit, at how Enjolras seemed to be so eager for affection today. The words did their job, making Combeferre make quicker decisions as he picked up what they needed.

As they were headed to the checkout, Enjolras stopped. “Oh my God.”

“What?” Grantaire asked, trying to look in the direction that Enjolras was. “Holy shit, is that--”

“Yes,” he answered, and Combeferre only looked towards Enjolras for how he wanted to proceed. And proceed he did, giving a tight smile to the individual coming towards them. “Hello, ‘Parnasse.”

Montparnasse had a smirk that was worse than the most sickly toothy smiles. His heavily charcoaled eyes peeked out from heavy, dark curls framing his delicate face, accentuated by purple, glittery eyeshadow. His outfit, too, seemed to be composed of any number of silver and purple elements, the shinier the better. He was not one who should be normally walking through a grocery store. And yet, here he was, looking at Enjolras like he was something to take apart.

Grantaire didn’t miss the way that his eyes didn’t stray from Enjolras’ beautiful face. It wasn’t like he could blame the guy, but considering he had gotten used to only himself and Combeferre looking so intently at Enjolras, it was enough to rub him the wrong way, especially considering the past he knew Enjolras had with him.

“Enjolras, a pleasure,” he purred, his accent strange and entirely unplaceable. It added to the mystery, and Grantaire wouldn’t be surprised if he was told that it was fake. But he hoped they didn’t stay around long enough to find out if it were true or not. “I haven’t heard from you in a while.”

“Yes, well, I’ve been busy.”

“Aren’t you always, darling?” he asked, his smirk somehow deepening. Grantaire exchanged eye contact with Combeferre behind Enjolras’ back. “We should catch up.”

“I’d rather not,” Enjolras sighed. “Anyway, we were just--”

“Ah, Combeferre,” Montparnasse tore his eyes away from Enjolras to land on the other man. “You’re still here, are you?”

With all the smugness of a person who had spent the morning making out with the person that Montparnasse had tried to make him jealous about for so long, Combeferre shrugged. “I don’t know what you could be talking about, but yes, I am here.”

Montparnasse’s eyes shone with a joke that he could no longer share with anyone, and it was only then that he noticed the third of their party. “And who are you?” he asked, tilting his head. 

“Boyfriend,” Grantaire answered, purposefully vague. He heard Enjolras laugh quietly. “I’m Grantaire. I’ve heard so much about you.”

Montparnasse beamed, “From your boyfriend?”

“Yeah, both of them,” Grantaire dropped, feeling Combeferre laugh now next to him. When Montparnasse did a double take, looking at Enjolras and Combeferre, Grantaire went on. “I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together,” he said, his voice as bored as possible. “We really do need to get going, though.”

As they went to the checkout, Montparnasse nearly tripped to follow after them. It wasn’t a surprise; he was wearing seven-inch platform boots. “Are you serious?” he demanded. When Grantaire didn’t answer, and instead started scanning their items, he turned to Enjolras. “Enjolras, are you dating them?”

Enjolras nodded, simply. “Yeah.”

“But--you’re dating  _ both  _ of them?”

“That’s what I said, Parnasse,” he sighed. “We’re going, though, so can you just--”

“Won’t you get jealous?”

“Oh, God,” Grantaire interrupted, dramatically. “Thank you for saying that! We totally didn’t even think of it. This changes everything.”

Enjolras laughed before he turned to Montparnasse again, “I--I really need to go, okay? Bye Parnasse.”

“But--”

“Goodbye,” he repeated, reaching out to hold on to Grantaire shirt as the three walked away.

“So that’s Montparnasse,” Grantaire said, stuffing bags into the car. 

“He was wearing the ever-popular  _ intergalactic space babe  _ ensemble, too,” Enjolras noted, helping him. “God, and that was a pretty good meeting, for him.”

“He didn’t try to kiss you, for one thing.”

“Good save with those lyrics. I think it stunned him.”

“Anytime, Enj,” he smiled, sliding into the backseat while he and Ferre took the front. It was a short ride back to their apartment, and Grantaire didn’t miss the way that Combeferre’s hand traveled across the divider and took Enjolras’ hand. It made him smile, the affection between them giving him more joy than he had ever expected.

As they were bringing things upstairs, Grantaire turned to Enjolras, “Are you staying over tonight?” They had discussed Enjolras sleeping over--clear that they weren’t ready for sex yet. For one thing, Enjolras wasn’t sure if he wanted any part of it. And two, they had a long way to go in meshing together first. But staying with them, sharing a bed--it had been on the table for a while, so Grantaire asked in hope. He knew Combeferre wouldn’t press to ask anyway. 

He tilted his head, “I wasn’t sure. I mean--I didn’t bring anything.”

“You could always borrow stuff,” Grantaire offered.

Combeferre overheard them, “Are you thinking about staying over?”

Enjolras hesitated, and then nodded. “Yeah, I think so. I mean, I had to stay late anyway since Courfeyrac has the apartment for his date night, so--um, yes. Yeah, I’d like to stay.”

Grantaire immediately turned and kissed him, feeling Enjolras smile against his lips. It was meant to be quick, something funny and excitable, but he found himself reaching for more, wanting more, needing more. 

“Someone’s excited,” Combeferre murmured, and Enjolras broke away, laughing. Grantaire didn’t much care, leaning against the wall behind him. Ferre looked over his glasses,smiling, before dropping his voice like Grantaire couldn’t hear it. “You know he bought new pajamas so he could look nice when you stayed over?”

Grantaire’s eyes went wide, embarrassment taking over him. “I--I needed pajamas!” he protested, as Enjolras’ smile grew. “Bastard.”

Enjolras frowned slightly, his arms draping over Grantaire’s shoulders. “I think it’s cute,” he insisted, leaning down to grace him with another kiss. “You really didn’t need to, though.” Grantaire didn’t say anything, too sheepish to answer. 

Combeferre took over for his silent boyfriend, “Do you still just sleep in briefs like in middle school?”

“Yeah,” Enjolras said, as conversationally as if he were asked if he liked the color green. “You, too?”

As Combeferre nodded, Grantaire interjected, “How do you guys know this?”

“Best friends since we were kids, remember?” Ferre prompted. “Too many sleepovers to count.”

Grantaire nodded, “Right.” As he stood, looking at Enjolras and Ferre, thinking about how he was going to sleep next to the two most beautiful men in the whole  _ fucking  _ world, clad only in their underwear--he blinked rapidly. “When’s bedtime, exactly?”

Enjolras burst out laughing, hugging him tighter.

A few hours passed between their dinner and their movie, during which Grantaire fell asleep. He had told them that he had a habit of falling asleep during  _ every  _ movie he had  _ ever  _ seen, but they had put it on, and before he knew it, he was being jostled awake by Combeferre. 

He leaned in to kiss Grantaire, and his lips were soft enough for Grantaire to guess that they had been kissing Enjolras just before. It made him smile. “Ready for bed?” Ferre asked, and Grantaire nodded.

“Let me shower,” he requested, getting up from the couch and ruffling Enjolras’ hair as he went. Grabbing a clean pair of boxers, he stepped into the shower. Outside, Enjolras was holding on to Combeferre’s hand as they went into his and Grantaire’s room. 

Rapidly, Combeferre pulled Enjolras into his body, kissing him deeply as they stood next to the bed. He broke away only to kiss along Enjolras’ jaw, “I’m happy you’re staying, he whispered.

As he reached his neck, Enjolras took a deep breath, his fingers dancing along Combeferre’s neck. “So am I, Ferre.”

Combeferre’s fingers traveled under Enjolras’ shirt. It could have been seen at moving fast, if they hadn’t been making out for the past twenty minutes next to a sleeping Grantaire. “Can I?” he asked, his eyes meeting Enjolras’. Enjolras nodded, and Combeferre lifted the t-shirt over his head, quick to wrap him in a hug to keep him from the chill. He kissed to Enjolras’ chest, his skin much lighter than his own or Grantaire’s, as well as devoid of hair until his navel. Slowly, his hand traveled down, his fingers touching the soft hairs above his pants.

“And these?” he asked, and he felt Enjolras shiver as he nodded. Combeferre knew his limits, and knew himself. He knew he wouldn’t Enjolras a bit, that this was only courtesy. And if it was a bit hot for both of them--where was the harm? So he kissed his chest, his neck, his lips as he pulled at Enjolras pants, loosening them enough that Enjolras could step out of them. Combeferre pulled away from him, looking at him, before shaking his head. “You’re so handsome,” he murmured, feeling Enjolras curl his fingers into his hair, holding him at his neck. “I’m so happy.” He couldn’t seem to stop saying that lately. 

Grantaire came from the bathroom, his eyebrows shooting up as he saw Enjolras in only his boxer briefs. “Jesus,” he breathed, “Warn a guy next time. I’m going to have a heart attack.”

Enjolras covered his face with his hands and hair, crawling into the bed, where Grantaire followed him, his broad torso exposed. Enjolras answered its presence with splaying his fingers in the hair that grew there. “Turns out, Enj,” Grantaire said quietly as Combeferre folded Enjolras’ clothes. “We can’t all be smooth marble, such as yourself.”

“Turns out,” he countered, his eyes alight, “That I love your chest.”

Grantaire let out a low whistle, “Well, get ready for a chest that’s going to blow your mind. Combeferre, you’re up--”

“I’ve seen Combeferre’s chest before--”

“Not like this!” Grantaire insisted, his boisterousness causing Combeferre to roll his eyes. Still, he peeled off his shirt. Grantaire let out a groan of appreciation, biting his lip and arching his back in the most theatrical way he could manage. Enjolras only laughed. 

“He’s always like this,” he told Enjolras, moving on to his belt. 

As he wound it lightly around his hands, Grantaire was noticeably quieter. Enjolras swallowed, “I mean--I can’t say I disagree with his assessment.” As Combeferre shook his head, trying to hide the color in his cheeks as he undid his pants, Grantaire resumed his appreciation, applauding even when his thighs were freed.

“That’s our fucking boyfriend,” Grantaire said, as if this were news to Enjolras. He held out his palm for a high five, pleased when Enjolras slapped down on his, holding on to his hand. They were both smiling when Combeferre climbed onto the bed, stopping to kiss Grantaire first, and then Enjolras, before he settled on the right side. Grantaire was on the left, with Enjolras in the middle. “You’re good with the middle, right?” Grantaire asked.

Enjolras nodded, sinking down into the pillow they added to the middle of the bed. “I am very good right here,” he confirmed. 

Grantaire turned, draping an arm over Enjolras as the blond looked at Combeferre. With another kiss to both of their cheeks, Ferre leaned over to turn out the light and sink into the bed. “Goodnight guys,” he said, sighing in the peace of it, reaching out to touch Enjolras’ thigh softly under the blanket.

Next to him, Grantaire loosened his arm to let Enjolras turn around and kiss him. “Goodnight,” he whispered, before settling into Grantaire’s body.

Grantaire said nothing for a moment, blinking into the dark room as he felt Enjolras’ body against his, smelled Combeferre’s familiar scent in the bed.  _ Enjolras. And Combeferre. Combeferre. And Enjolras.  _ “I promise I’m going to go to sleep,” he said quietly, and paused for a moment. “But can we have a moment to celebrate that the two hottest men in the world are in bed with  _ me _ ?”

Enjolras reached a hand back and patted the side of his face, “Grantaire?”

“Yeah?”

“Settle down.”

And he did. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's done! Thank you to everyone who has been reading and who will read. I really appreciate you being here and taking the time to check this out. This story has gone through a bunch of small changes, and a bunch of bigger changes, and there are things any author wishes to change once it's done, but overall I am very proud to have finished and posted this. Everyone who has reached out, in any way, (and some great new friends!!!) has been so wonderful. Thank you!
> 
> Also thank you to my partner, who helped me figure out some way that these three could work in the parameters I started writing months ago. I have way too much from our headcanon conversations to fit in a story that has a clear plot, but rest assured that I could be busy with this verse and this ship for a long, long time. And I have you to thank, who listened and suggested and helped me write so much of this. Yay for you!!!!!!
> 
> Again, I'm here and on Tumblr for any questions and comments you may have. And again, thank you so much for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [here](http://morningsure.tumblr.com) on Tumblr for any private comments or anything! Thank you for reading!


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